


Wrath & Ruin

by Daerwyn



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dovahkiin - Freeform, Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Dragonborn - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:52:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 54,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5311823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daerwyn/pseuds/Daerwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn has come to Middle Earth, and she is not what any of the people that believe in legends ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wrath and Ruin

Melisandre saw the arrows flying before she heard the thundering of hooves. Though they did nothing for the dragon, she was still saw the dragon get distracted for just a moment from burning the caravans that rested just at the base of the hill. She could still hear the screams of those that did not incinerate immediately and they brought a painful jerk to her heart.

The first wave of elves were on horses, streaming past a bloodied Melisandre with arrows streaming from their bows. Still, they did nothing. She could not distinguish from man or woman as they shot past her, but she could see each of them fire with a precision that was so in sync it made her falter for a moment.

It was a mistake. The dragon turned its fire on them, roaring once it was done, and nothing stood of the elves but ash. Melisandre grabbed the sword she had dropped in the effort to dodge a caravan the dragon had thrown, and came running for the beast.

The next wave of elves were a toy for the dragon, and it shot into the air just as Melisandre managed to swing towards the feet of the dragon, and she missed. It swooped down after circling, picking up in its giant talons two elves and carrying them high into the sky before releasing them.

“Livana!” a voice cried. It was then that Melisandre saw the Elven Prince was valiant on his elk. She only knew it was a prince for the silver crown that adorned the top of his head. And her gaze darted to the two elves still falling, screaming as their sure death was about to meet them. He was running towards one, the elk shuddering at the speed. And still he missed her, as the one that he had been running towards plummeted to the ground.

She did not move, and the elven prince was nearing Melisandre, standing in the path of him and the woman he had called out for. He leaped from the elk in a show of grace she had never seen before, and then he was running directly towards Melisandre, intent on getting to the young elf that had fallen. But the dragon had noticed him as well, with his cries. And it was swooping towards them.

“You must leave her!” Melisandre cried as the prince tried to approach the fallen elf woman. But the prince could not see what she could. The belly of the beast becoming molten.

“She is my wife!” the prince shouted, and he tried to get past her, but Melisandre used his strength just as the dragon breathed, and shoved him down to her height and holding him close as the flames surrounded them.

The scorching fire was hot, and though she shielded the Elven prince, the flames were inevitable as they licked him as well. He cried out from the pain, falling to his knees. The dragon’s breath receded just long enough for Melisandre to see the wounds. To see the handsome prince’s face looking as if half of it had melted, blistering and burning. But his hair did not burn. She pulled him to his feet, getting him to his prized elk steed that had escaped from the flames. “Recall your soldiers,” she spoke, and he swiveled his gaze to her, in agony, but seeing the unmarred skin from the flames, the smoking leather hide that did not burn due to its origins her fellow companion Rodair had gotten them. “A dragon’s hide cannot be pierced by blade or arrow. You must leave before you lose more.”

But he was staring at her in curiosity, as she seemed to remain unaffected by the fire. “Who are you?”

“They call me Melisandre,” she spoke quietly, her eyes darting to the elves that were still fighting against the dragon, shooting arrows and throwing spears. But none met its mark. “Recall your men.”

“They are my father’s men.”

“Then where is your father?” He pointed towards the equally as blonde man charging his own elk towards the beast. Melisandre took off, her feet going as fast as they could. But it was too late. By the time she was even close enough to the King of Mirkwood, the flames were coming and there was nothing the already charging steeds could do to turn away.

It was that moment that the Elven Prince became the Elven King. And he had gained everything he was to inherit, but lost everything he had for himself.

Melisandre turned from the flames only long enough to get used to the heat, and then she pushed forward, using the dragon’s distraction as a means to grab it’s small ridges and haul herself onto it’s back. Her sword came down upon the creature’s skull, but it merely nicked the scales, sending her hand ricocheting off. Well, it was worth a try. The firestorm, however, ended at that and the dragon roared before taking off into the sky, unfortunately with Melisandre still upon it. She had never been in the air before, never ridden anything that flew before. And so true fear gripped her the higher she went, gripping the dragon’s ridges with all of her might, knowing that the scales were cutting into her skin. She could feel the pain of it, but could not let go. Or then she’d be falling. When the dragon leveled out, she was hanging from the side of it, and it’s great eye could see her.

The dragon opened it’s mouth, showing the soft skin inside, and she had one shot. One chance to kill it before it burned the rest of the elves. Her grip on one of the scales was tight, and she could feel the blood in her palm making it difficult to remain there much longer, and her hand gripped the sword with the other before she let go, using all of her strength to swing her body closer to the beast’s mouth, the fire building in its belly, and she swung her arm between its teeth, sending her sword through the top of it’s mouth, directly into the cranium inside. The beast roared as Melisandre jerked her arm out, the sword remaining, and as it gave jerky beats to its wings, her grip faltered and she was plummeting to the earth.

The impact was felt immediately, and then she saw no more of the beast falling above her, the wings giving a final beat.

Melisandre awoke with a gasp as the ground thundered with the fall of the dragon, and an elf was approaching her, the Elven prince. Her body hurt, her lungs aching. And she knew that she would have a myriad of bruises. His steps faltered as she lifted her head, and he stared at her incredulously, for the second time since they had first talked.

“If you could help me stand,” she groaned, holding an arm up. Her wrist was sprained, swelling, and her ribs felt cracked and shattered. But there seemed to be no further damage. At least that hadn’t already been mending. His grip was firm, yet gentle, and he helped her to her feet. The side of his face that was burnt looked agonizing, but it did not seem to be as painful to him as before. And slowly, right before her eyes, the wounds began to cover, showing the flawless skin that had been there before the fire. It looked as if he had never had an encounter with it at all.

“You’re hurt,” he said, and it wasn’t a question, but an assessment as she limped. Her ankles too, then. “My healers will tend to you.” His gaze turned to something over her shoulder and while he murmured something to a nearby elf in his elven tongue, he did not look to Melisandre again, his feet instead bringing him towards his fallen companions.

Melisandre watched has he approached the burnt corpse of his fallen bride, slow, heartbroken steps. And when he knelt beside her, she could see the pain on his face, not just from what she assumed were still his burns, but those of his heart. He held the body close to him for some time, and then his face hardened as he gently lifted her up, moving her towards the wagons, where others that were dead were being laid. Including the deceased Elven King.

Melisandre took a quick survey of her own people. Of the ones that were not elf. There were none. All were burnt, crumpled to the ground, or pierced with friendly fire that had ricocheted off of the dragon.

“My Lady, you are injured?”

“I am no lady, young elf,” she spoke softly, watching the sea of bodies that laid in the dragon’s wake. Mother, children, and soldier alike. And the beast that rested a few yards from them, no longer breathing, and stone cold to the touch. She knew it because she had seen it before. “But yes, I am injured. It seems I have a few cracked ribs, and sprained joints.”

The elf gave a dip of the head. “We should have you healed soon. Injuries such as that are remarkable after a fall that was so great.”

Melisandre gave a small smile, glancing towards the elf. “And yet I have had much worse.” But the elf helped her walk towards the elves healing their fellow soldiers. Women and man alike. So different from her own culture where a woman was not given a sword unless she had a good reason to wield it. “Your name?”

“Haldir, my lady.”

“I am not a lady,” Melisandre reminded him. “A shieldmaiden, yes, but not a lady. I was not born to a high family, and I have not had a single piece of gold to my name.” He lowered his eyes, as if apologizing for any offense. And his hands closed over her wrist as he murmured words of healing. “And you, Haldir? What family do you hail from?”

“A cousin of King Oropher-” He paused, his eyes darting to a cart as he moved to kneel, pulling her leather boots off to get access to her ankles. “Of King Thranduil.”

“Then I am sorry for your loss. I have only known the late King Oropher for a mere five minutes, but he came to my people’s aid, and for that I owe the elves a great deal.”

“It is we elves that should owe you. You killed the beast.” Melisandre gave a wry smile as he worked silent for a few more moments. “How is it you are immune to the fire and a fall as great as that?”

“I don’t know,” Melisandre admitted. “I was born this way.”

“The Dragonborn legends are mere whispers, but even they reach our forest.”

Melisandre gave a small laugh. “Then I don’t need to introduce myself. You seem to know plenty about me.”

He dipped his head again, this time a gesture to her clothing. “You will need to lie back so that I may heal your ribs properly.” So she rested against the cart, the elf leaning over her as he began murmuring again. “Not cracked, merely bruised. How can you fall but not break a bone?”

“They say my bones are as strong as a dragon’s hide.” She gave a short glance to her palms. “I cannot say the same for my flesh.”

“A true power.”

She just gave a small smile, but was helped up by the elf. Thanking him, her gaze turned to the Elven King, Thranduil. He was no longer clutching his deceased wife, but approaching the dragon, staring at it as if it would stir back to life.

“How long was I still for?” she suddenly questioned Haldir. “After I fell?”

“Not even two minutes, perhaps less. Time moves slower in battle.” It did. She absently nodded her head before her feet began to take her amongst her dead. The children were the hardest to look at, and the mothers still clutching their hands for protection. And then she came across the guards, the first to fall. Rodair, her surrogate father, was easy to distinguish amongst the twisted metal of his armor and sword. The dragon flame had near melted it into the dirt.

She knelt down beside the man, clutching at the stone around his neck. The dragon fire pendant he always wore. It remained unchanged by the charring, and glowed just as it always had – like the sun. She strung it around her neck, before she rested her palms against the warped breastplate that had only done so much to protect him from the flame. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Rodair. Go in peace, but I will ensure that you are not forgotten.”

The Prince turned King was near her when she stood, giving her privacy from his distance away. She surveyed the rest of her fallen, before she swallowed back her grief. Everyone was gone. Her gaze returned to the king as she approached him.

“You fought valiantly.”

“Everyone fights at their best when they are near death,” she returned. “But I thank you for your kind words, King Thranduil.” She had hoped she pronounced it right from her memory, as Haldir had merely said it once. But he did not seem offended by the pronunciation, so she felt as though it was some success. “And I am terribly sorry for your loss.”

He bowed his head. “Yes, we all lost someone close to us today.” He faltered slightly, glancing back to the dragon. Suddenly, with a hardened expression, he turned to her. “I extend an invitation to return with us to the forest of Mirkwood. It is there that we call home, and we wish to offer our thanks for slaying this serpent of the North as well as offer you what you may need, Lady Dragonborn.”

Melisandre gave a soft smile, but glanced over to the dragon as well, feeling him watching her now. “I am afraid there are more dragons out there than just this one. But I thank you for the invitation. I belong in the north, protecting my people as best I can.” Turning back to Thranduil, she gave an incline of her head. “Bury your dead with honor. It is short of nothing they deserve.”

He clenched his jaw, but his face remained stone. “I shall honor all of them.”

“Can I ask something?”

“If I may ask in return.”

“How did you heal your burns? In an instant?”

“How is it you can endure them in the first place?”

Melisandre hesitated. “I am immune to the fire.”

“I did not heal the burns completely,” he answered in return. “Instead, the ancient elven magic covers them.” He shut his eyes, and it seemed as if his skin was melting for a second time, showing her the face that she had seen immediately afterward. When he opened them, the burns faded away again. “A protection should an enemy think us struck down.”

“An illusion,” she murmured. “Fascinating.”

“If you will not join my kin on their journey back home, then I offer an extended invitation. Should you ever find yourself in the forests of Mirkwood, you will be treated as a friend of the kingdom.”

“Thank you,” Melisandre spoke quietly. “It means a great deal to me to hear that be said.” And it did. Most people viewed her being with contempt – with jealousy when loved ones died, with horror as she stood in flame and came out alive. And with fear at what the legends of her coming told – death. Looking around she saw that perhaps the last legend was true. Every where she went, death followed.

“How old are you exactly? You look nothing but a mere child.”

Melisandre considered the question, knowing that it varied from person to person. But this Prince that had lost everything seemed to be someone she could trust. “Twenty.” He seemed to be someone that would not take her age as her knowing nothing. He would instead see it as her young and having seen too much.

“And you’ve no place to go.”

“The North is my place to go,” she answered quietly. “It is my home, be it on rocks or sticks or dirt. No where is more familiar to me than these lands.”

“You’ve no horse or weapons.”

She knew. “I will make do, elf King. I always do. I stick to my borders, because that outside of it does not concern me. Only when there is nothing left for me here would I leave to defend the others outside of it.”

“I think much the same thing. My son is in Mirkwood, training hard to as a member of the guard.” Melisandre glanced to him, surprised by the openness. “I do not want him leaving the borders of Mirkwood, as there are enemies everywhere that mean a great deal of harm to us. And I have lost too much today to lose him too.”

Melisandre nodded once. “I quite agree. But I’ve no one to lose as well. They’ve all been consumed by fire long ago, if not today. Farewell, King of the forest. May we meet again in happier times.”

He placed his hand over his heart, before extending it out. An elvish custom that Melisandre did not know. But she understood it meant farewell enough as he turned and headed towards the remainder of his men, perhaps a third of what they once were, and they rode off, leaving her with the dead she could not bury and the land she could not save from the dragon’s touch.


	2. Duelling Chances

If there was someplace Melisandre felt out of place, it was the Shire. The homely hobbits were dressed in finely cared for fabrics, they had no knowledge of weaponry, and their lands were full of their own personal gardens, as well as a myriad of farmlands. Her large horse, and comparably as tall frame, was a sight for sore eyes here. Though it was nearing dusk, hobbits still ran about, watching her, staring at her.

Her horse stopped once she reached Bag End, and she paused outside the gate of a young hobbit that was tending to his garden for the night. “Excuse me, sir,” Melisandre spoke politely. The hobbit who had been pointedly distracting himself from openly staring at her, jumped at her voice. “I’m looking for Bilbo Baggins. I’m a friend that is supposed to be meeting him tonight-”

“First dwarves, not the race of men,” the man muttered under his breath, likely not intending her to hear. She did anyway. He rose from the ground, his hands covered in dirt. “That way,” he said with a wave of his arm to the hill. Staring closely, she could see the makings of a door and the glow of a window in candlelight just beyond. At least another hour of a slow canter.

“I’m sorry, did you say dwarves?”

The hobbit grumbled. “A few.”

Wonderful. Melisandre gave a curt nod. “Thank you, sir.” She dug her heals into the horse, sending it off down the dirt road at a faster pace. Hopefully she’d get there before the sun fell behind the horizon completely.

The hobbit hole under the hill had voices of merriment inside, and Melisandre dismounted from her horse, tying it to the fence post, before she placed a hand on the horse’s mane. “Stay here,” she spoke quietly. “And do not startle the little ones.” The horse snorted and Melisandre gave a small smile. “Too much, that is.” She approached the door, and just as she was about to knock, it was jerked open. And the wizard that greeted her was one that she had parted from nearly a year ago.

“Lady Melisandre!” Gandalf cried, as if overjoyed. “A wonderful time you’ve come. Come in, come in.” Melisandre gave a nod, stepping past the wizard and into the home. Her head nearly touched the ceiling, and so she ducked to avoid a chandelier. “You’ll have to forgive the architecture. Perhaps this wasn’t the most gracious place to meet for us.”

Melisandre laughed quietly. “Perhaps not.” But as per customs, she pulled her daggers and swords off of her, until all she was armed with was a bow and arrows. They, too, soon joined her pile. “I’ve heard of dwarves joining us.”

“You have heard right. Come, most are waiting for you.”

“Do they even know I am coming?” The silence the wizard gave her was an answer to that question. No.

“I have not had a chance to tell them about you. Too many introductions were in order in the first place. And I was not sure if you would even come.”

Melisandre gave a short nod. “I would prefer if you did not, then. I will tell them what they must know.” Gandalf only gave a nod, before he gestured her further inside.

“It just so happens that they were nearing the end of their meal. How went your travels?”

Melisandre followed his direction, pausing as she saw the table full of twelve dwarves, and a hobbit who looked flustered. “I rode for four days straight and only rested for two nights. I did not anticipate how far south this place would be.” Melisandre noticed that full attention was on her. “I hear you have yourself a dragon.”

“Gandalf, this isn’t a place for girls and their fairy stories hoping to come true,” one of them spoke.

“It just so happens I’ve invited her to join. As she can slay Smaug.” Smaug. Yes, it was the name she took the most issue with.

“Naming a beast will only give it more power,” Melisandre spoke. “If you will not call it what it is, Gandalf, then do not call it at all. It is a dragon.” Melisandre’s eyes moved from the dwarves to the wizard. “How many more are coming?”

“Just one.”

And it was that one that put up an even greater protest than the one she now knew to be Dwalin did. While the company of twelve dwarves asked her about herself – they seemed to know each other well enough, they did not step in to defend her at all – even though she told them she had been wandering the wastes on her own. Which she spoke was good enough. They didn’t trust her, as they had no reason to believe anything she told them. And Gandalf did not speak, as she had told him she wanted none of them to know the true reason she was here.

Slaying the dragon was the barest of information it could have been.

So when Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of this quest, stepped forth once Bilbo had set to getting him stew, and declared that she was not allowed to go, Gandalf had only then spoken to defend her.

“I’m not letting a child, much less a girl, join this quest, Gandalf,” Thorin spoke sharply.

Melisandre stared at the supposed King under the mountain, before surveying the rest of the dwarves. She had an idea of the answer before the question even came from her mouth. “Who is your best fighter?” There was only a few seconds of silence before the one she suspected, rose. Dwalin.

“That’ll be me.”

Melisandre did a quick once over, assessing his strengths and his likely weaknesses. “Good. Your weapon of choice?”

He sighed as if her questions were pointless. “Me axe.”

Melisandre gave a smirk, as if in approval. “Good.” Her gaze turned back to Thorin. “I’ll fight him, then. Prove my worth.” It definitely took Thorin by surprise, the request. She caught the disapproving look from Gandalf, but paid it no mind. There was no telling these dwarves – simply showing them. Melisandre tied her hair back over her shoulder, before she gave the tall dwarf a look. “Well?”

“You can’t be serious, lass. I’ll break you in half on accident.”

Melisandre smiled. “I’d like to see you try.” She glanced back to Thorin. “Well?” she pressed.

“Well now I’m far too interested,” Fili admitted. “If you think you can take Dwalin, she could easily take any of us. I have to see this, Uncle.” Melisandre had been counting on one of the dwarves being interested. Gandalf just sighed, and breathed in the herbs from his pipe.

“Don’t seriously hurt her,” Thorin warned Dwalin. “But if you can put her in her place, then by all means. I said no to going on this quest, and I will not change my mind.”

Melisandre gave a shrug. “We’ll see about that.” The dragon was the goal. She just had to go along for long enough to get rid of the damn dragon.

“No fighting in this house!” the hobbit suddenly burst forth. Melisandre glanced to him in surprise, having forgotten he was even there. “That is where I draw the line. I am sorry, but I will not have it in this house!”

So the red-headed woman simply gave a curt nod to the hobbit before she turned for the door, heading out onto the lawn. She was mindful of the garden that Bilbo had planted, and eventually reached a patch of grass, where she paused, turning back to the hole in the side of the hill, where a few of the dwarves had followed in curiosity. And when Dwalin realized that she had moved the fight outside to accommodate their host, he grunted to Thorin.

“I’ll make quick work of this.”

“I’ve faced things a lot bigger and scarier than you, Master Dwarf,” Melisandre said cheekily, with a teasing grin. “And even less hairy.” Dwalin gave a chuckle to that, a deep one that nearly vibrated his entire body. So perhaps he had some respect for her. “At least four orcs on the way down, and need I remind you that I have yet to sleep for three nights now?” The dwarf grunted again, as if he remembered the story she had told of her journey south. Following orcs was tiresome, but it was a good time filler for the loneliness.

He waited for her to give the first move, which she was careful about, watching him circle her for a good few minutes, before she finally struck. He was solid, and she knew it was solid muscle. But her feet quickly took her away from the dwarf as he made a move at her. It continued this way for a mere five minutes, before finally she stood straight, her labored breathing even and she stared at the dwarf as he huffed and puffed out his exhaustion. And her final blow was swift, knocking him from his feet, and sending him into the ground with a gasp as his breath left him.

Melisandre had to kneel in order to bend over him, and her hands made contact.

Melisandre froze as soon as her palm rested just under his jaw, along his jugular, and he froze as well, as if instinctually knowing that a blow like that in a real battle, with a sword or axe, would have sent off his head. Melisandre kept it there for only a moment longer, for him to fully surrender, before she rose.

Holding out a hand to the dwarf, he grunted in anger, but accepted it, pulling himself into an upright position. He looked her over, wondering, it seemed, where she kept her strength at, before he glanced to Thorin. “She’s a lot better than she looks, I’ll give her that.”

“I’m a shield-maiden from the Northern Wastelands,” Melisandre spoke. “Who has been traveling on her own for nearly ten years now, and chasing Orc packs for five. I am definitely a lot better than you think.”

Thorin clenched his jaw, as if annoyed that she had proven him wrong. “You can kill the dragon?”

“That’s what Gandalf thinks, anyway,” Melisandre admitted. “I’ve seen it done. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“It’s your life.” Melisandre didn’t dare try to correct him. Gandalf had said that these were proud dwarves, and that this race was not fond of anything having to do with much magic or fairy stories. They liked things the dwarven way or no way. Which Melisandre could respect – she liked things in a way comfortable to herself as well. And she would tell them her own way – when the time came. But that would not be until they actually got to the mountain. “We leave at dawn.”

She couldn’t help the grin that lit up her face, and she gave Thorin a nod in thanks. “I will prove to be more valuable than you think. I truly hope you will see that.”

“You are not coming along to reclaim the mountain. You’re here to slay the dragon if need be. You care nothing for Erebor.”

“But I care something for the people’s lives at stake. It’s not a question of if the dragon will wake, it’s when.” And while Balin, the particularly elderly dwarf, seemed to agree with her, he did not voice it while Thorin glared at her in anger, definitely disagreeing. He would see in the end. Hopefully, they would all understand then.

“You’ll provide your own horse and provisions.” Melisandre glanced over her shoulder, sending a wave of fire glinting in the moonlight, cascading down her back. Thorin was still glaring at her.

“My horse does not leave me, and my provisions have been packed. I also have my own weapons and my own clothing and bedding. You needn’t worry about me. It’ll be as if I’m not even there.” She moved towards her monster of a horse, patting the provisions that weighed down the saddle at least another body in weight. Gandalf had warned her it would be an extremely long journey.

“All horses spook.”

“Not Dragonfire,” Melisandre said with a touch of a smirk on her lips.

“Excuse me, but you’ve named your horse after dragons?” the funny one, Bofur or Bifur or Bafur, questioned.

“The horse already had the name. I simply became its owner a few years ago and it is the only name she will answer to.” Melisandre combed her fingers through the mane. “I hope, Master Dwalin, that you are not grumbling about how my height is my advantage. Because I ensure you, an Orc will not leave you alive to gripe about it afterwards, and most orcs are taller still than me.” She patted her horses’s neck. “Right, Dragonfire?” The horse grunted, stamping its great feet, and she smiled, before turning back to the company of dwarves.

“Our camp is in the trees just outside of the village limits,” Gandalf spoke. “You have said that you have not rested. Perhaps you would like some before we leave.”

Sleep sounded wonderful. Melisandre considered it. “I would like, first, to hear of what exactly it is you hope to achieve.”

“To reclaim Erebor,” Thorin stated.

“Without waking the dragon inside?” Melisandre asked, her surprise false, and clearly sarcastic. “Yes, that plan sounds solid. Do you intend to be coin-habitants in that mountain with the dragon?”

“Well, you’ll be along to kill it before it wakes, won’t you?” Thorin returned, equally as sarcastic. Melisandre took a deep breath, her fingers digging into her horse’s mane, before she gave the dwarf a pleasant smile.

“Of course. That is why I’m coming along.”

“What are you trained in combat with?”

“Whatever is in my hand, I can kill with, you needn’t worry.”

“I’m not worrying.”

“How about we all come inside for a nice warm cup of tea to all calm down, and we can all discuss what exactly this quest is about. After all, Bilbo has still yet to sign this contract.”

“As has she.”

“You’ll find my name written at the bottom, under the job description of dragon slayer.” Melisandre followed Bilbo into the home, her eyes darting to her weapons. “I’ve brought all I’ll be needing.” Thorin grunted something she couldn’t make out. It caused a smile to come to her face regardless. “If there’s one thing I will be needing, however, it’s a translator. I’m unfamiliar with the grunting of dwarves. Is it some sort of language I don’t know?”

Gandalf laughed to himself. “Now, now, Lady Melisandre, I think that’s quite enough for the day. Let’s finish this meeting and then we can all be in our beds by midnight.”

Melisandre glanced to Gandalf only long enough for him to meet her eyes. “How many times must I tell people, I’m not a lady.” Her gaze flitted to the hobbit. “Are you joining this quest for a mountain buried in eighty years of dust?”

“I’m actually considering staying in my nice warm bed, and not even hearing about anything these dwarves have to say,” Bilbo stated simply. “I will not be going on any adventures today, tomorrow, or next week, thank you very much.” Melisandre just watched the young hobbit, the sparkle in his eye at the declaration. He would join. There was no doubt. And perhaps offer the last bit of sane company she would get on the journey.

And as much as she wanted the dragon taken care of, she was not looking forward to the journey to get there. Not one bit.


	3. After You

“We can’t! They’ve all run off!” Melisandre glanced towards where the orc screams were coming from. Even in the dense forest coverage, they would not be safe for long. “Except one.” Melisandre didn’t feel like she should have given Thorin a smug look, but she simply couldn’t help it. She had told him that Dragonfire would not run. But Thorin instead tried to approach the mare, and the horse whinnied, stamping the ground with her feet in warning to the dwarf.

“I will hold them off,” Radagast was telling Gandalf, but it was Thorin that occupied Melisandre’s mind.

“How is it you intend to ride her, when you cannot even reach the saddle?” Melisandre questioned lightly, and her arrow soared into the trees, resulting in the cries of a dying warg. She approached Dragonfire, climbing onto the saddle with a glance towards the others. Radagast went sprinting off into the rocky plains. “Well? Are we going to stay here or move?”

And they did move. She was quick as she guarded them as they ran behind rocks, and when the rocks grew smaller, so did she. She instead stood on the ground, crouching really, and held Dragonfire’s reigns as if her life depended on it. “We make for the ravine-”

“I will not seek out the company of elves.”

The screams of orcs surrounded them. Radagast hadn’t been able to draw them off once Kili killed the warg that had been tracking them. And the rest were drawing near. All they had been trying to do was reach the mountains. In vain, it seemed. Melisandre gripped the reigns of the horse tightly, Dragonfire knowing to keep it’s head down. All of their provisions were on her, to keep their feet light.

“I will hold them off,” Melisandre said suddenly, quietly. She tugged on Dragonfire’s reigns, pulling herself onto the mount, her body nearly flat against the horse as she kept her head down from top of the rocks. She glanced from Gandalf to Thorin. “Go. I will buy you time.”

“You will be cut down in minutes-” Balin protested.

Melisandre sat at her full height, pulling out her bow from over her shoulder, stringing an arrow. “Then I will buy you minutes. Go, now!” Digging her heels into the horse, it spurred off in the opposite direction the dwarves were headed. And Dragonfire rode hard, bringing her a few yards away from the pack of Orcs, where she fired her first arrow.

And then the stream of arrows that followed was nearly at lightning speed. Orc after orc dropped, and the attention was brought to her.

Melisandre hadn’t seen the arrow coming for her, but she felt the impact. It was hard, jolting her body backwards as she was hit right in the shoulder. A cry left her, one of pain and anger. And she dropped her bow, the string catching on the leather of the saddle, and she instead drew her sword.

The first orc was upon her in mere seconds, the warg attempting to go at Dragonfire, but Dragonfire was smart – she had dealt with danger before. And with deliberate moves to avoid the warg, Melisandre could easily cut down the orc before giving a backwards swipe towards the wolf-like animal.

A sudden horn blowing made Melisandre uneasy. It almost sounded like the orcs were calling more to battle, were drawing more near, but the precision of the five arrows as they hit the orcs coming towards her was no orc-like work. She had only seen such precision once before. As her sword swung at another orc, her horse reared back, turning out of the way of a warg, giving Melisandre just enough time to see the finely dressed elves riding towards her. Towards the orcs, more like.

Her sword was knocked from her hands to the grass below, and she ducked from a blow, grabbing the dagger strapped to her boot. When she sat up straight again, the dagger was between the orc’s eyes, and it convulsed as it went falling back off of the warg. The warg… well, that was coming straight at her with a speed that Dragonfire could not counter. It knocked her from the horse, sending her into the grassy plains, and she knocked it back just a few feet with a shield of her arms, and then it was coming at her again, causing her to groan painfully as the arrow was jostled.

But she had to use that arm, her fingers searching in the nearby grass. And once they grasped the hilt of her sword, the warg chomped down on her forearm. The bite didn’t last long, as a sword was shoved into the side of the warg’s body, and it whimpered, before falling to the side of her. She felt woozy and light-headed, the arrow, or the fall, much more brutal on her than she expected. Either way, she needed to get to the horse. That was her only way to get out of here if the elves did not survive. But by the time she managed to get to her feet, and whistle for Dragonfire, who was doing what she could to outrun wargs, the orcs were dead. And a final arrow killed the last of the wargs.

Dragonfire came to a stop in front of Melisandre and she gripped the front of the saddle tightly, sucking in a sharp breath before she pulled herself atop her.

“My Lady, you’re injured.” Why did elves always start conversations that way? Melisandre glanced up from the grip she had on the horse’s saddle, seeing a handsome dark-haired elf. “My name is Lord Elrond, and I control these lands, in my home of Rivendell.”

She had no idea what that even meant. But she just nodded once, her eyes squeezing shut as she grabbed the arrow, breaking the shaft off. She would not pull it out here, not while she was focusing on staying atop the horse. “Melisandre,” she said back to the elf, after a moment of breathing out the pain. Definitely not immune to arrows. She’d be sure to write that down. “From the Northern Wastelands.”

Lord Elrond, she saw as she opened her eyes, recognized the name. “And what is Miss Melisandre of the Northern Wastelands doing this far south?” Ah, so he had heard not to call her a Lady. Good.

“For that, I blame Gandalf the Grey and a company of dwarves that I signed up for joining.” Her tone was a bit sarcastic, and she winced again as Elrond’s horse drew nearer, making Dragonfire stamp it’s feet in warning. “They ran in that direction while I attempted to buy them time. Following Gandalf to the ravine.”

“An entrance to my city,” Lord Elrond stated simply. His eyes looked over her wounds, before he called something in Elvish. Once finished, he spoke to her in the common tongue, “We must get you to Rivendell. I will have my healers attend your wounds. It is an honor to meet you. My kin have told me stories of your bravery.”

“Likewise, though I have no kin to tell me of you. For that I’m sorry I am not as informed as you are of me.”

“There is no need for apology. And no need to worry about not knowing me.” Melisandre merely gave a pained grimace, and he snapped something to another elf. “Can you ride?”

“I’ll manage.”

“It is not far,” Lord Elrond informed her. Well, that was a relief. But they did not ride fast. It was a short ride, yes, but they went at a comfortable pace, Melisandre’s shoulder feeling like it was burning with each jolt of the horse, and her arm felt as though it had been chewed completely off. She checked it twice on the ride, finding that everything was still there, just … extremely bloody.

Once they got to the passage, it was one at a time, and Lord Elrond requested she go in front of him, at the end of the group. She obliged without a word. And when the horn blew, signaling their arrival to the city, she assumed, Lord Elrond was once more beside her. “They do not know who I am,” she spoke quietly. “I would like it kept that way.”

“Who you are, or what you are?” Elrond murmured.

Melisandre hesitated. “What.”

“They will not find out from me.” She relaxed slightly, nodding in thanks. Too exhausted and in pain to say or do more. When the Company came into view, surrounding by Lord Elrond’s men, they immediately caught sight of her. She probably looked wild – like the wild free folk of the plains. She could feel some blood in her hair, dripping onto her cheek and smearing on her face. And her shoulder had the broken arrow sticking out of it. Elrond took her reigns from her, and guided the horse to the front of the company, before jumping off of his own horse. He grabbed her waist without her permission, pulling her off of the horse in one swift move. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she let out a pained gasp, bending forward and her good arm clutched at her stomach.

“What happened to her!?” she heard Bofur demand.

“I’m fine,” Melisandre ground out. And she straightened, grimacing slightly and holding back a cry. Her arm came up to the wound in her shoulder, and she sucked in a sharp breath, before driving her thumb into the hole. “Ugh-” she found herself groaning, but she bit her lip, pushing with as much might as she could muster. And then she reached over her shoulder, pulling the head of the arrow from the back of the wound. She released her breath, relaxing slightly. It didn’t hurt nearly as bad with the arrow out as it did in.

Inspecting the arrow, she saw it was standard issue, likely made by hand. But a second thought brought it up to her mouth, and her tongue darted out, tasting the shaven tip. Almost immediately she spit into her palm – not wanting to disrespect the elves by spitting onto the floor.

“Poison. A Morgul blade,” Gandalf observed. “Will you be able to-”

Lord Elrond was speaking orders immediately, before Gandalf could finish. And an elf was at her side immediately, taking the arrow from her, staring at it a moment, before speaking something to Lord Elrond. And then she was being spoken to by the woman elf. “My name is Nimrodel. I need to take you to our healing bay so that we may extract the poison from your system and tend to your wounds.”

Melisandre grimaced as she wiped at the blood on her cheek. “Do what you must.” The dwarves all began speaking at once, in protest. But Melisandre glanced towards Elrond. “Make sure Dragonfire is treated well. She is a fine horse.”

“She will be treated as if she is one of our own.” Melisandre was satisfied with that, and allowed the elf, Nimrodel, to take her away. She didn’t remember much of the healing bay, just chanting and light. She must have gone unconscious, because the next thing she remembered, it was dark and Gandalf was sitting near her, with his staff in one hand.

“That was a close call, Melisandre.”

She groaned, hauling herself upright. Looking down, she was not in her armor, but instead elven wear – a tunic and leggings. Something she had seen the soldiers wearing. Something that was elven, but fit for a soldier to wear into battle. “Where are my clothes? My armor-” That armor had taken nearly twenty years to perfect, and she had no idea if it was still even an existing garment.

“Lord Elrond is having it cleaned. How are you feeling?”

“Alive.” She tugged at the sleeve of the tunic, revealing the scar of where the arrow had pierced her. It was barely noticeable, but healed. Healed as though it had never been a wound in the first place. She swallowed, glancing to Gandalf. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A few hours. Dinner has just started, if you are hungry.” She was. Starving, really. “The poison in your system came out so well, Nimrodel had a hard time believing it had even entered your system in the first place.” Melisandre was surprised by that. “Morgul blades are something that not even elves can resist poisoning from.”

“Well, that’s a skill I had not known.” But Gandalf did not seem amused. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and slowly got to her feet. Her arm still hurt, and she could see that the wounds were nearly gone, but the scars remained. “How is it I am healed so quickly? Usually I have wounds for days-”

“Lord Elrond requested you be healed quickly. So as not to hinder the journey.” Oh. Good. That was nice. “I believe it is time we speak to the Company about who you are-”

“No,” Melisandre stated firmly. “They will not know until we reach that mountain. Otherwise, this journey could land us much more trouble than good intentions. My entire trip thus far has been to gain their trust. If they find out now that I am keeping things from them-”

“If they find out things later?” Melisandre swallowed. “I advise you tell them.”

“No one will know, Gandalf. It is better that way.” Mostly because she didn’t want incessant questions the entire trip either. She sighed as she felt the anger of the wizard. “You know just as well as I that they will ask the story. I know enough of Thorin Oakenshield to know that a single mention of the elves of Mirkwood would send him into a raging pile of dwarf.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true.”

“After we get to the mountain, and only then.”

Gandalf sighed. “Then I trust your judgement. What you did today was very foolish. No mere girl could take a pack of Orcs.”

“She shot down ten when my soldiers arrived,” Lord Elrond’s voice suddenly sounded. Melisandre started, and glanced to the door to see the elf dressed in a more relaxed regalia. Elvish robes that were … very strange and out of place in her own lands. “I daresay, if she hadn’t been knocked from her horse, she could have taken them all. I came to check on you before dinner is served, to see if you are feeling well enough to join.”

“I feel remarkable,” Melisandre admitted, glancing down at herself. “Bruised, but that’s to be expected.” Glancing back up, she gave him a kind smile. “Thank you. I owe you my life for your men getting there when they did.”

“A debt you need not worry about paying.”

“Dinner sounds wonderful,” Melisandre admitted after a second, her hand coming to her stomach. “I don’t think I’ve eaten all day.” And so Lord Elrond gave a kind smile, and Gandalf went ahead while the elf lord offered her an arm to escort her. “Thank you, for having my clothes cleaned. I… woke in a bit of a panic, I’m afraid.”

“I had Nimrodel put you to sleep so that we could speed up your healing process,” Lord Elrond stated, his tone apologetic. “And she had to remove your armor in order to have better access to your shoulder. Leather made from real dragon hides?”

Melisandre laughed quietly. “Yes, you’ll find that it's… well, rather tough to break through. And it has a touch stitching of the fibers of the hides, as well. It is heat resistant, and it handles well in the cold. Necessary for this quest, I should think.”

“How did you manage to cut the leather in the first place?”

Melisandre hesitated. “Well, dragon teeth. When a dragon is old and it dies, it does not do so in its caves or it’s nests. When I was barely able to walk, my … my mentor had led our caravans west during the dry season, where we stumbled upon it. And he had taken the teeth for my daggers and the leather for armor, when I got older. He discovered, upon harvesting it, that the hide was much less tough after the dragon was killed. Like a relaxed muscle. The skin then could be cut with enough strength and a blade, but for smaller pieces, scoring the skin on the inside with the rigged teeth helped make it soft. I would guess and say there is some magic at work, but could never be too sure. I don’t know much about them myself.”

When they turned the corner, she could see the dwarves sitting at a low table, and various collections of greens were being placed down by the elves. The food nearly reminded her of home. Vegetation, the things that could grow. “I hope it is to your liking.”

“It’s what I have grown up on. Of course it is to my liking.” As he released her arm, she seemed to catch the attention of the dwarves.

“Melisandre!” Bilbo cried, getting out of his seat. He approached her quickly. “You’re alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” Melisandre admitted. “Elf magic heals wounds better than time, I should say.” She glanced to the dwarves, who were glancing between her and Elrond. “Gandalf said the poison barely entered my system.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Bilbo insisted. “And you’re walking around still? Come sit, there’s plenty of room-”

“I just woke up,” Melisandre admitted. “Apparently I needed rest more than I thought. But I’m fine now.” She found Gandalf sitting near the back, by the tall table. And she could see Thorin there, looking short as could be, but confident.

“We have a chair reserved for you with Gandalf, Thorin, and myself,” Lord Elrond said quietly. “If that would please you.”

“Sorry, Bilbo, but I don’t think I’ll fit in those chairs.” The hobbit merely gave an indignant huff. “I would be honored, Lord Elrond.” With that, the elf nodded, and she was brought over to the table, her feet a little sluggish, but she settled into the chair.

“You look like you were punched by an Orc,” Thorin stated blandly.

Melisandre gave him a wry smile. “More like bitten by a warg and knocked off my horse in the struggle.”

“You must be very impressed with her fighting skills,” Lord Elrond spoke. “Had it been anyone else, I do not think they would have killed nearly as many wargs before being taken down.”

“Then you have not seen dwarves in battle.”

So not in a good mood. She doubted the dwarf ever was. “I wonder if the reason I never see dwarves in battle is because they are not fair combatants for their five to six foot tall competitors. A shame, really, that the only things dwarves can fight well with are themselves.” Melisandre reached for the glass of wine that was in front of her plate, a smirk touching her lips as even the elf lord found her comment amusing. “There must be some small children as adept at warfare as you in the Shire. That is where you went to settle, is it not?”

He glared at her. “And you? Who have no home?"

“I have more of a home to go back to than you do,” Melisandre pointed out. “You have a dragon in your throne room. I have a nice comfy bedroll waiting for me in the Northern Wastelands. If I do not fall asleep looking at the stars, then I am not home.”

He snorted. “And wild men running around looking out for blood.”

“The wild men are the least of my people’s concerns. Famine, starvation, disease, yes. But wild men? No. We do not war with each other. We are a brotherhood that look out for one another. Warn each other with threats. And stay strong with hard times.” She sipped from the wine, finding the taste very pleasant. “You’ll find, Thorin, that us wild folk, as you so call us, are not much different than you dwarves. Though our pride is certainly still touching the ground. I’d think with you being so much closer to it, that you’d at least touch it with the tips of your toes, but it seems instead that your ego is standing at the same height as the mountain you wish to reclaim. The entire North is my home. There is not one rock, one road, or one stream I have not touched or traveled. That I have not slept or bled on.” Thorin stared down at his plate of greens, no meat to be found. “Not one clan I do not know a member of. No, I have no home in the sense you think. Because everywhere up there is my home.”

“How long have you been on your own?” Lord Elrond questioned, genuine curiosity the cause of the question.

“I was twenty when a dragon destroyed my people’s caravans and burned them all to a crisp,” Melisandre answered curtly, but also politely. “And it has been since then that I have traveled by myself.”

“A dragon?” Thorin asked hoarsely. “No one ever said a dragon killed your family.”

“My family had long since died before that,” Melisandre answered. “My location was simply full of farmers, old warriors, and young families. All of which accepted me as their protector, not their daughters or wives or mother.” Thorin winced. “I was nothing more than a shield-maiden to them, and to anyone else.”

“And where were you when the dragon attacked?” Melisandre glanced to Gandalf quickly, a warning on her face, but his look of innocence was fake, even to her. He knew exactly what he was doing. But the reminder of the roars as the dragon first approached, of the people screaming and running for horses or cover… They came to mind. Melisandre could remember the fire claiming her loved ones. Could remember the screams of torment and pain. She could remember watching those she had grown up with and fought with her entire life, falling one by one, sometimes two by two.

In the red of the wine glass in front of her, Melisandre could see the blood from her own hands, as she gripped the dragon tightly. She could taste the copper in her mouth as she fell. And the red of the dragon as it began to fall itself, its blood seeping from the wound in its mouth, onto the dead plains that became its tomb.

“Melisandre?”

She started with a jerk, blinking rapidly as she realized all three occupants at the table were giving her full attention. Worried attention. Clearing her throat, she sat up a little straighter in her chair. “I was there, Gandalf. Sleeping, as I had the night shift watch, and it was midday. And I awoke into a world of fire and death.” Gandalf winced slightly. Her gaze darted to Thorin Oakenshield. “You are not the only one that has lost everything with a dragon’s wrath.”

“Awoke to a world of fire,” Elrond murmured, as if lost in thought.

“Everything burned and would not stop. Not even long after the dragon fell.” She blinked rapidly suddenly. She glanced down to her plate, caught off guard by the emotions that kept trying to come back. Unwelcome ones. She began to eat as Lord Elrond was quiet, staring at her as if she was someone entirely different. “It was a miracle I made it out unscathed.”

Lord Elrond seemed to awaken, and questioned Thorin on the quest, on what exactly they were doing here. But Thorin’s patience was little, and he stormed off before she could even blink. Which left her with the two full sized men. Well, one man, one elf. “Melisandre,” Lord Elrond said quietly. “It is an odd name. One that means strength and determination.”

“I did not know that,” Melisandre admitted.

“Can I ask what you remember of your parents?” Elrond asked.

“My mother died before I have memory,” Melisandre said quietly. “And my father… well, was hardly there. A local man, who cared little for the girl that killed his wife. All he did was provide me with clothing. Nothing really, save for that. My father has been gone fifteen years. And my mother for thirty.”

“A shame,” Elrond said quietly.

The meal was finished in silence, and uneasiness. As the dwarves began to sing, throwing food around, Melisandre politely excused herself. She would never, in a hundred years, have done that while at a guests’ home – especially that of a lord. She had not been alone long, but it was completely black when Lord Elrond stumbled upon her overlooking a waterfall. Her elbows rested on the rail, and she was leaning over it, staring at the water crashing into the river below.

“It is often dangerous to wander at night, yet not always in the safe havens of Rivendell,” Lord Elrond spoke, by way of greeting. She didn’t stand upright, she just gave a small smile in acknowledgement. “Something troubles you.”

“How did you know who I was?”

“Even my people spread word quickly when someone with peculiar power is found.” She grimaced slightly. “It is my only regret that we could not get to the Orcs sooner, to spare you from your pain.”

“I don’t understand why I’m being treated like I'm…. walking gold. I didn’t do anything to you. I simply killed a dragon ten years ago.”

“With nothing but a sword. And died that day.” Melisandre hesitated, supposing that was a feat. “And came back to life. Not even elves have that power.”

“I don’t know anything about power,” Melisandre admitted. “My trainer died before he could teach me about the powers I had.”

Lord Elrond hummed, joining her at the balcony, he, too, leaning over to stare at the water. “And likely he would have been one of the only men to know. They are a closely guarded secret, for your protection. Otherwise dark and evil powers would be able to harness your powers for their doing.”

Melisandre processed what he said. He knew something about her, surely he did. Otherwise, she would not be being spoken to in riddles. “Lord Elrond, do you know anything of who I am? Anything that might explain why I am the way I am?” No one had answers before. But elves were… well, all knowing, in that regards. “Nothing tells me why. Nothing explains why my bones are hard, why I cannot die, why I do not burn. And I have never had answers before. I thought, perhaps, you may have heard something.”

“I have not heard much, as legends have never concerned me before. Nor have I ever thought them true until I had heard of you. My mother in law, on the other hand… she would have more answers for you. But I’m afraid that her dominion is far from here, and a great deal out of the way for you to visit. Her name is Lady Galadriel of the realm of Lorien, on the other side of these mountains, and to the south.”

“But you have heard something,” Melisandre pressed, glancing towards him. He pressed his lips together, as if keeping a secret forcefully hidden. But he spoke anyway.

“Some explanations that King Thranduil and I came to, were magic. A form of magic was at work somewhere near your development, and it engrained itself into you, making you… one of a kind. But there is no proof of that, nor any proof at all that you’re anything but a man. No one but your family would know the truth. And I’m afraid I cannot give you any answers, merely speculations. But Lady Galadriel, she can fit the pieces together. She is one of our oldest. And she will know far more than I.”

“My father was a simple soldier that could barely hold a sword. And I have never known my mother. Nor heard stories of her. But I know that my father would not have married a witch or a sorceress. He hated anything strange and unnatural.” Lord Elrond glanced to her, frowning slightly. “And he hated anything that was not man.”

“Perhaps he did not know,” Lord Elrond offered. “With hair as red as fire, and skin as golden as the sun, she will walk in dragon breath and be as one with the flames. She will awake to a world of fire, and die in the storm of battle, only to be reborn. She will walk until the last of men, and the last of the stars wink out of existence.”

Melisandre glanced at him, startled. “Where did you hear that from?”

“In the Second Age, legends were told even then of a dragonborn. Not just amongst your people, but among all of Middle Earth. Whispers of someone that could save them from the horrors of the burnings of the villages, the death of a servant of evil.” She glanced away from him. “But that evil was vanquished, and so went the whispers. But only your people held onto them. Only your people passed on the ancient language, the traditions, and the hope.”

“We were hit the hardest with the darkness,” Melisandre said quietly. “Famines. Our populations could hardly support each other.” She was silent, watching the water crashing. Water that would snuff any fire. “Will I ever die?” she asked quietly. And her voice reached a tone of desperate gasps, as if she could not handle the truth of what he would say. She just wanted answers. She was desperate for them. No one knew. No one but Rodair, but… he had long since passed, and anything he could have possibly written down, had burned.

“Do you want to?” Lord Elrond asked patiently.

“No,” Melisandre admitted honestly. “Not at all. But in a thousand years, I would imagine it to be pretty lonely when the world is not like it was before. When everyone I have known has died or gone from the earth. And when all that is left for me is a memory of what once was.”

“A thousand years to an elf is a mere decade to a human.” Melisandre frowned slightly. “It will seem long at first, and then all too fast.”

“I do not want to be like this,” she confided. Lord Elrond did not seem surprised by the declaration. “I never wanted to be the Dragonborn. Death is in my wake. And destruction and heartbreak and darkness. Everyone around me dies. It is why I went on my own. It was easier that way.”

“You cannot be alone forever,” Lord Elrond said gently. “Everyone must have someone to confide in, or to talk to. Otherwise, I’d fear we’d all go mad. When you focus on the evil that surrounds your name, how ever will you find yourself looking at the good?”

Melisandre clamped her mouth shut. Yes, she had been focusing on that. Particularly since whoever seemed to think they could help her always seemed to get killed. Lord Elron paused, turning so that they were facing each other. The waterfalls and the hills became a distant background.

“You were born to do magnificent things. In all that has happened, maybe you’ve forgotten that.” She felt tears gather in her eyes, but Lord Elrond pressed on. “To save people from dragons. Perhaps not to drive them to extinction, but to drive them from habitated lands. You are meant to slay those too bold or too dangerous.” An overwhelming feeling of emotion formed in her throat, making it hard to swallow. Melisandre quickly turned away from him, gripping the rail again as Lord Elrond spoke with the purest form of sincerity she had learned in a long time. His hand touched her shoulder, as if comforting her. “You have been lost from your purpose for a long time. Since you were a young girl, who had been left all alone in the wild lands.” Yet it seemed like Lord Elrond was giving her the direction she was supposed to go, lighting the beacon that she was to follow. The beacon of hope that had been snuffed out as the dragon had been slain. “Gandalf tells me that he found you chasing Orc packs south.”

“Orcs soon learn to fear someone they cannot kill,” she said quietly. He was silent, too, as he released her shoulder, glancing into the valley, where in the distance she could hear the dwarves partying with their songs and their wines. “I have been to the valley just north of Mirkwood, at the base of Ered Mithrin.” Lord Elrond listened intently as she continued. “They were the southern most my lands went. Harsh mountains with little game, little coverage, but plenty of Orcs. They had been growing bolder. Gandalf…. Well, Gandalf found me near Mount Gundabad.”

“The realm of the Orcs, now.”

Melisandre gave a small nod. “I was bruised, battered. I hardly looked myself. And he told me of a quest, to reclaim a mountain and to slay a dragon. At first I told him I had no interest in anyone reclaiming anything, but he insisted that if they wake this dragon… more harm will be done than good.” Melisandre dropped her gaze, the water below stretching deep into the mountains. “I accepted, and rode into the waste for another few years, until he told me it was time to meet. And then I rode south into the Shire.” She glanced to Lord Elrond abruptly. “I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being the only one to kill dragons and therefore that be my only use.”

“Which is why you chased orcs,” Lord Elrond said with a nod. “I think that is proof enough that you are useful for more than just dragons.” Melisandre looked away from him, before the tears fell again. In the distance, she could see the dwarves telling their stories, playing their games. Looking as though they had no worry. His hand went to her shoulder again, and she forced herself to glance up to him, confused. “Perhaps when you feel you do not fit in with that of men, you will remember that you will always have a place with the elves.”

A lump formed in her throat. He was offering her a home, once everything had failed her. Once times had washed most of it away. “Thank you, Lord Elrond,” she said quietly.

“All of us have heard of you, and all of us will recognize you by your flame red hair. You made quite an impression on the elves of the Woodland Realm.” Melisandre flushed brilliantly. “If you find that you want to do more with your life than wandering the north or chasing down Orcs, you are always welcome here. Or in any of our realms. I am sure that sentiment will be returned by any of our leaders. And I encourage a journey to Lady Galadriel, should you ever wish to know the truth.”

He turned to leave, to leave her there on the balcony, and she let him walk away before she said quietly. “Thank you.”

“Anything for the Dragonborn.”

She watched as he left before she turned back to the fountain, with much more hope in her than before. Perhaps an eternity wouldn’t be so bad. Afterall, elves had eternity ahead of them, too.

It wasn’t until the next week, after the runes had been read, that Melisandre was woken by Gandalf on her chaise lounge, wearing her dragonhide armor once more. She knew they would be leaving any moment, but she did not expect it to be in the middle of the night.

“The dwarves have gone.”

She groaned. And they had left her behind. Wonderful.

“We must catch up to them before they are tracked by Orcs. Quickly.”

She quickly grabbed her many weapons. Daggers, swords, and throwing axes. The last two she had been working on while in Rivendell, consulting with the forges in the elven realm to construct them for her. It was an easy task for them, it seemed. And they threw in a smaller sword without her request. She  slid on her boots, before following Gandalf out onto the front entrance, where Lord Elrond was speaking quickly to the wizard in Elvish.

Gandalf nodded and turned to Melisandre. “Horses will not make it through the mountain pass. We will have to go on foot.”

Her gaze darted to Dragonfire, who was being unloaded by other elves. Her pack was then presented to Melisandre. She took it, throwing it over her shoulder. She glanced to Elrond, and it seemed to pain her, but she said it anyway. “Take care of her. And if I am not back in two years time to get her, set her free to the wild once more.”

Elrond nodded. “As you command me.” He dipped his head in farewell, before speaking to Gandalf for a moment. And then they were moving towards the mountain pass, Melisandre muttering under her breath.

“Damn dwarves. They can’t just do things lightly. Always have to make things more complicated.”

Gandalf sighed. “Yes, and that, Melisandre, would be the nature of dwarves for you.” He gestured ahead. “After you.”

“No, Gandalf, after you. I will be the one catching you if you trip in that mountain.”

He sighed. “Very well. But keep close. Lord Elrond says there is a storm brewing.”

Wonderful. As if it couldn’t get any worse.


	4. Pure Starlight

An arrow was pointed under her chin and Melisandre froze, lifting her gaze just enough to see who her attacker was. Not a spider, clearly, or she would be impressed by the evolution in mere seconds. Instead, holding the bow, was a blonde elf, with startlingly blue eyes.

“A human amongst dwarves,” he stated, and the bow didn’t lower, but she could see the grip on the arrow tighten, as if ensuring it would not be shot towards her by any accident. “With hair as red as blood, and in light as red as flames.” Melisandre narrowed her eyes in confusion, but the blonde elf continued. “Miss Melisandre.”

He knew her. Melisandre had no idea how he knew it was her, and not some other red-haired shield-maiden, but he had no doubts. Perhaps he recognized the dragonhide armor she wore. Perhaps he was there that day with the rest of the Mirkwood soldiers. But he gave her a small nod in greeting, though they had never met officially. “You have me at a disadvantage,” Melisandre admitted.

“Legolas Greenleaf, of the Woodland Realm.” Legolas. The name was familiar, and as soon as she realized why, the bow was lowered. He barked an order to the elven guard around them, approaching Melisandre as he seized her own bow hanging limply in her hands. His cold stare was very similar to his father’s own. “Welcome to the Elven Kingdom of Mirkwood.”

Melisandre dipped her head in a return greeting. “Thank you. I will admit, I did not imagine the size of this forest when your father spoke of it.” A hint of a smile touched her lips as she met his crystal gaze. “Will I still be permitted to enter as a friend, or am I now a foe?”

“You know this filth?” Thorin demanded.

“We’ve had a run in in the past,” Melisandre answered swiftly.

“What are you doing in these parts?” Legolas questioned as Fili’s de-arming seemed to take longer than the others.

“I wish to be granted an audience with your King about that matter. It is… difficult enough without evil lurking in the shadows. I fear we are not entirely alone here.”

“No, you are right.” Legolas gave a nod to the guards. “Take Oakenshield and Melisandre to my father. The rest will go to the cells until my father has come to a decision.” She knew he was only speaking in English for her benefit. Elves seized them all, but when an elf gripped her arm tightly, reaching for a dagger on her belt, Legolas spoke. “She can keep hers.”

“You underestimate my strength,” Melisandre accused, though she was only partially teasing. The elven prince recognized that.

“I don’t fear it,” Legolas said with a hint of a smile on his face as well.

Melisandre smirked. “You should.”

The elf merely said something to the elves, and they began forward, Legolas giving Melisandre a gentle shove to get her in front of Thorin.

“You know them?” Thorin demanded, and his gaze upon her was untrusting, as if she were an elf herself. Perhaps she was. It would certainly explain a great deal more than she had any closure on as a child.

“I’ve had a run-in with his father,” Melisandre admitted. “A long time ago, when I was just a child.”

“His father?”

“The King,” Melisandre supplied simply. “That’s the Prince trailing us and listening very closely.” Thorin glanced quickly over his shoulder to the blonde elf, and Melisandre suppressed a smile. She turned back towards the rest of the company, her footsteps even as she followed Fili closely.

“And when did you run into his father?”

“When my village burned,” she said, feeling no need to elaborate further. Further elaboration would mean him knowing far more than he was ready for. But soon. The timing was very soon, because the Company had reached near the base of the mountain already.

The King sat upon a throne made from a twisted, old tree. Everything here had to do with trees. But his throne was the most clearly carven one. Not only were there steps, but also mounted elk antlers. He began talking to Thorin first, something Melisandre considered to be royal custom. Or perhaps he did not wish to address her. But when he did, he did so while staring at Thorin, so that she wasn’t sure it was for her at first.

“I thought affairs outside of the north didn’t concern you?” Thranduil spoke, and Melisandre shifted slightly. “That is what you told me when we parted.”

Melisandre glanced to Thorin before she stepped forward. “It doesn’t. I could care less on if they take the mountain or not. What does concern me is the dragon.” Thranduil spun around, his hair fanning over his shoulder, as he gave her a look.

“You mean to kill it.”

“That is why Gandalf asked me to join on this quest.” He gave a small nod, as if he found the logic in there as well. “When they wake it while entering that mountain, I am their hope at slaying it.”

“No one can slay a dragon,” Thorin spoke sharply.

“I have seen her do it,” Thranduil stated simply. “Long ago, when she was nothing but a girl.” Thorin sucked in a sharp breath, glancing to Melisandre in surprise. “She can do what an entire kingdom of dwarves failed to do.” Thorin’s gaze turned deadly. “What is your plan once you wake the dragon, King Under the Mountain? But you aren’t king, are you? Not yet. You seek that which will bestow upon you the right to rule. There are gems too, I desire. White gems of pure starlight.”

“The dragon will not wake.”

“Then you’re a fool as well as a pretender,” Thranduil spoke. “When it does? When it goes to the nearest city it can? Be it the forest or Laketown? When everything burns?”

“It will not wake. And nothing will burn. You have watched our city burn before, and you chose to do nothing! You, who lack all honor! I would rather watch your city burn than to bend to your will.”

Melisandre knew that was a fool’s promise just as much as the king did. There was no possibility that the dragon would sleep through a theft. Nor that a dragon would be dead.

“Do not speak to me of dragonfire,” Thranduil spat, getting close to the king, and she started in surprise by the speed with which he moved. “I have seen its wrath and felt its ruin.” The side of his face suddenly began to melt away, as it had ten years prior. He drew away sharply as Thorin seemed aghast by the burns. “You plan on sneaking into the mountain right under its nose and stealing the gem yourself? No. You can’t. Because the dragon has laid dormant long enough. And it will wake.” Thranduil waved to a few guards. “Stay in the dungeon and rot for all I care. A hundred years is a mere blink in the eye for an elf. I’m patient. I can wait.”

As Thorin was taken away, Melisandre remained, her gaze on the King, curiously.

“Does he know?” Thranduil spoke, turning to her abruptly as Thorin descended out of view.

“None of them do,” Melisandre answered. “Otherwise I fear there will be more foolish errands than there have been so far. It is best they don’t find out until we meet the dragon. Letting Smaug know who I am will only make sure that I am met with an end.”

“Expose your weaknesses, you mean.” Melisandre dipped her head in agreement. “Haldir spoke to me on what you told him that day. Your bones may be as hard as dragonskin, but your flesh is soft… I wonder what would happen should you be cut at the throat or stabbed with a blade?”

“I heal as an elf,” Melisandre admitted. “Much faster than men. My wounds do not fester. My blood is not thin. Yet, I do not wish to test what would result should either happen. I only know that I cannot die and I cannot burn. I do not know the extent of it. I do not know if I will age, but never die, or if I will simply never age and never die. Or if I will die eventually at an elderly age, but never be killed prematurely.”

“None of the legends say,” Thranduil considered. “Interesting. And your fellow kin in the North?”

“I have no more kin in the North,” she stated simply.

“It has been ten years since I've seen you and you have not aged a day. Tell me, was that the first time you’ve fallen and died?”

Melisandre gave a nod. “My first death, yes.”

“And you truly have not aged. Perhaps it will be the second choice.” Melisandre sincerely hoped not. “It so happens you’ve come upon my kingdom on a very special night. The Feast of Starlight. Music, wine, and dance. Would you join us?”

“Is this the part where my intrusion, even uninvited, is overlooked?”

“You were always invited,” Thranduil stated. “Just no warning of your arrival was given.” Melisandre smiled lightly. “Join us, have a full belly and a warm bed to sleep in before your king perhaps reconsiders.”

“If there is something I have learned about Thorin in this quest, it is that Thorin does not reconsider.”

“Then he will rot here. You have no intention of waking that dragon, either,” Thranduil stated. “No one does. So I will prevent that from happening. Join us for the feast.”

“As much as I would like to, King Thranduil, I do not wish to get onto the leader of this troupe’s bad side. It could mean he not allow me to get close enough to the dragon before it kills others.” Thranduil merely rolled his eyes. “The only reason I’m here is to make sure that dragon doesn’t kill anyone. And if I do something that keeps me away from that dragon, people could die.”

“Do you truly wish to join your friends in the dungeon?”

“Not really. I have always wondered what the Elven forest would look like. There are no trees like this in the north.” Melisandre’s eyes glanced around her. “The dragons had burned them thousands of years before. I never knew they could grow so tall.” She hesitated, glancing back to the elf. “May I?”

“You are my guest.” Melisandre walked slowly towards one of the trees, her hands touching the smooth bark. It felt as hard as stone, yet it was as smooth as water. And cool to the touch. She slowly moved her gaze upwards, seeing the tree’s leaves waving in the gentle breeze at the top.

“It feels so solid.”

“These trees have been growing for over ten thousand years.” Ten thousand years…

“And how long have you been alive?” She hoped it was not too personal of a question.

“Nearly six.”

The trees were almost twice his age. She retracted her hand, her gaze darting down below, where she could see multiple streams and green plants under them. So many levels and bridges. She swiveled around, taking in everything around them. “It is beautiful,” Melisandre admitted. “Truly.”

“Clearly you have not see many things of this Kingdom.”

“Is that modesty I hear?” Melisandre stopped looking around as she glanced back to the King of the Woodland realm. “How has your kingdom got on since the others were lost?”

“You have met my son. The kingdom is in mourning, yes. My wife died by plummeting to her death. And my father died in a fiery inferno. You experienced a similar fate to my wife and I to my father. Yet we survived.”

“We had to,” Melisandre admitted. “There were others that needed us.” She took a deep breath. “We had a purpose to walk off of that field. There’s a reason I am the way I am. There’s a reason you were made king and I was there to block the fire from you. And there is likely a reason we were brought onto this quest and that we came upon your kingdom. If Thorin strikes a deal, and we go to Erebor, is there a safe place you can keep your people to escape the dragonfire if I am unsuccessful?”

“I will not leave my kingdom because of a dragon.”

“Your kingdom is made of wood. And wood burns.”

Thranduil curled his lip into a sinister smile. “I’m quite aware.”

“If the dragon turns to the forest instead of Laketown, once it leaves it’s cage?” Thranduil turned away, walking towards his throne. “Your kingdom will burn.”

“Perhaps. Maybe just to spite your one or the other theory, he will burn both.” Melisandre grimaced as he ascended his throne. His humor was not funny. “You truly wish to go to the dungeons?”

Melisandre did, simply because she didn’t want to let others get hurt. But the elven king took his time in getting her down to the dungeon. He did walk her through the festivities, showing her parts of the forest that she couldn’t see from the throne room. And she was even offered a glass of elven wine. As the king was drawn away to a conversation, Melisandre watched as Legolas approached her, his gaze darting to the cup in her hands, before he cleared his throat, stopping in front of her. “My Lady-”

“As I’m sure someone has explained, I’m not a Lady, Prince Legolas,” Melisandre said warmly.

“Apologies, Miss Melisandre,” Legolas recovered smoothly. “But I noticed that my father has left your side and wondered if you would like to see the stars before you are taken to the bottom levels.”

Melisandre glanced up, seeing the canopy of leaves blocking out the stars. “And how is it we see the stars if they are not visible under the trees?”

Legolas gave her a smile, one that surprised her for his rather serious face, and held out a hand to her. “If you would allow me, Miss Melisandre?”

She nodded once, placing her hand in his, and then she was guided around the dancing elves, him swiftly dodging anyone that changed paths a little too quickly to be calculated. He led her up a long winding path of stairs, high into the trees until they were suddenly breaking the canopy and the stars were shining brilliantly.

“It is the closest you can get to the stars without climbing the mountains,” Legolas spoke as he released her hand, and Melisandre stared up at the sky, her breath leaving her in a gasp as she could see the stars so much clearer than she ever could in the North or even in the mountains.

“But they’re so clear,” Melisandre whispered, glancing back to the elf Prince. The small wooden platform did not allow them to be too far apart, but there was at least an arms length between them as he glanced up to the stars as well. Melisandre turned back, scanning the tops of the trees until she saw the Lonely Mountain. It stood high above the trees, and she could see the ancient stone gates, with carvings that were difficult to make out into the starlight, but otherwise she knew it was there.

“Magic lies within these woods, ancient magic that has made the stars shine brightly. This is one of the best locations to see pure starlight.”

“Are stars important to you?” Melisandre questioned, tearing her gaze away from the mountain, where the sleeping giant laid. Legolas seemed surprised by her question, but did not voice it. “You are having a celebration for starlight. I can only assume they mean something to your people.”

“ _Ellon_  in Elvish means both star and elf. It is believed that elves are pieces of stars come to Middle Earth. It is why we do not die, and why we are able to heal people with our touch and the ancient language.” The ancient language. Yes, it was something she knew as well, but had no magic to heal or anything of that significance. “Are you truly what my father claims?”

Melisandre glanced away from him, hesitating. “It is dangerous to claim a title that no one can prove is true.”

“But you have proven it.”

“Or I am just strange,” Melisandre admitted. “Just because they give me a name in the legends does not mean that I am her.” Glancing back to Legolas, he seemed to see her expression of hesitance, of uneasiness.

“Laketown is there,” he spoke after a moment of silence. His arm pointed towards the lake, and Melisandre could see a river leading up to the tree they were in at that moment. But on the other end, the city shone brilliantly against the dark water. Fires burned and homes had smoke billowing from their chimneys. Her eyes darted from the mountain to the small town, calculating the distance. It was closer to the mountain than the mountain was to Mirkwood. And she could tell that the mountain itself faced Laketown, not the forest. Laketown would be the sure direction that the dragon would go, unless it felt like changing direction. But the natural direction would be Laketown. “Nearly three thousand live there.”

“At least a third will die in the fire if that dragon wakes,” Melisandre said quietly. “Water can only save them for so long.” Her throat felt like it was clogged, and she swallowed hard. It did little to help. “That is if I get a chance to warn them of the dragon coming. If I do not… they will all die.”

“Do you intend to go into the mountain yourself to get the stone for the dwarf?”

Melisandre considered that. “Yes, that was my intention. We had a hobbit in our Company, lost to the forest likely, as he was not in the group brought back to the gates. He was our burglar, the way we would get into the mountain undetected and not wake the dragon. I was to go in with him. Now, it seems I will be the only one brought in. And I know the dragon has smelt the scent of man before, so it will wake. No dragon sleeps for sixty years and intends to sleep more.”

“No, it does not.” Legolas seemed to consider her words. “And if you are not allowed to go into the mountain?”

“If Thorin should not trust me, you mean?” Melisandre countered. “If he believes me to be in league with elves, he will not want me to touch that stone. Thorin Oakenshield is a proud man, and a stingy one.”

“So he will go in alone.”

“I do not know. That is a question he will answer when he gets to that mountain. Right now, I’m encouraging your father to keep him locked up. The longer that dragon stays in that mountain, the weaker he will become.” Melisandre met the elf prince’s eyes. “A dragon can survive up to a hundred years without food. But this dragon… his time is almost up.”

“Can you truly kill this dragon? My father says that it is much larger than the dragon that killed my grandfather and mother.”

Melisandre had an inkling of the size, but she lowered her gaze. “We will have to find out.”

He was silent.

“I will need to go to the dungeons soon, Prince Legolas.” He nodded his head. “It is perhaps best I go now.” Glancing to the stars, she took a deep breath of the crisp, fresh air. “Thank you for showing me this place. I do appreciate it.”

“My father would have never forgiven me if I did not show our guest of honor the stars on this night.” Melisandre laughed quietly, but moved towards the stairs, her feet slow as they took her down. Legolas was quick behind her. “It is an honor to meet you, Dovahkiin.” Melisandre started at the word, nearly tripping down the stairs as she turned sharply, but Legolas grabbed her arm to steady her. It had been so long since she had heard it, and from a mouth that had long since been taken by the elements. Lost on the same fateful day as this elf’s mother and grandfather. “You look startled.”

“It’s been ten years since someone has spoken the ancient tongue to me,” she said quietly. “I was not prepared to hear it again. Forgive me.”

“You were the one that nearly tumbled down the stairs. Forgive me.” A smirk touched her lips. “Not that you would not survive it, though.” She laughed fully at that. “I did not mean to offend you.”

“It’s nice,” Melisandre admitted. “I did not realize how much I missed it.” He released her arm once he was sure she was steady, and they continued down the stairs again. “My surrogate father was named Rodair. He died the same day I met your father. He had practically raised me, taught me the legends, taught me to use a bow and arrow, to use a sword or dagger. Any weapon he trained me in, he made sure I mastered it. Even when my village flooded and people stopped believing in me, he did not stop training me.” Melisandre glanced back towards the prince quickly before she made another step. “It was he that taught me the ancient tongue, though most of it is forgotten now. I have not used it in ten years myself.” She was silent as he processed that information. “But the honor is mine, Prince Legolas. To meet someone that is elven royalty isn’t everyday.”

“Yet something you happen to stumble upon by accident,” Legolas observed.

“I believe you stumbled upon me, both times,” Melisandre returned.

“Ah, so it would seem.” She laughed lightly as they suddenly went deeper than the dias that there was celebration on, and the stairs widened so that he was able to walk beside her. “My father does not speak of that day. He only said that it was an attempt at helping slay the dragon that had turned into a slaughter.”

“I do not know how he came upon my people,” Melisandre admitted. “But I do know that the elves fought extremely hard against the dragon. But a dragon’s hide cannot be pierced. And though they fought valiantly, it was in vain. Your mother was in the second group that rode towards the beast, and… your father tried to get to her when she fell.”

“He only says that you pulled him away from the flame.”

“I shielded him, more like. But I couldn’t block all of it,” she said quietly. “Then I ran to your grandfather, to tell him to call his men back – to get out of here. The dragon had done too much destruction. It was best that the elves leave before they would all die themselves. And by the time I reached your grandfather, the fire…” she trailed off, uncertainly, but Legolas seemed to know their fates. Perhaps his father did not speak of it, but others that had witnessed it likely had.

“I’ve heard that you climbed onto the beast and drove a sword through it’s mouth.”

“The only sure way I could find,” Melisandre admitted. “At the time, that is. Even then, I wasn’t sure if I would succeed. The dragon could very well have just swallowed my sword, but I saw a soft patch of skin and I went with my instincts.” Legolas just gave a nod. “But do not make the mistake that I saved anything. If anything, it was your grandfather and father that saved the rest of your soldiers.”

“My mother was not supposed to be there,” Legolas stated quietly. “In fact, she had snuck along on a scouting journey up north. And when my father found out, he ordered her to go home. They were on their way when they heard the dragon.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She died doing exactly what she wanted. And I cannot blame her. Nor does anyone blame you.” Melisandre paused slightly as she could see the cells in the distance. Legolas gave an elven farewell she had seen only before from his father. The hand over the heart before extending it towards her. “You have saved my father’s life, Miss Melisandre, and for that we owe you a great deal.”

Melisandre gave a roll of her eyes. “I was doing what I had been trained to do. It was nothing.”

“It still was a miraculous feat. One many have died to try and do before you.”

Melisandre glanced away from him, towards the cells. “Thank you, for your kind words…. But it is best the dwarves do not think us friends. Or else they will become weary of me.”

“Of course. Then I do apologize.” But the knowing look in her eye told him that it was forgiven, whatever he was to do. He seized her arm, and though the grip was tight, it did not hurt. And she stumbled on the ground. And when she was thrust into a cell, Legolas grabbed the sword from her belt, and the dagger from her hip. She made to snatch back the dagger, but Legolas held it out of her reach. “Ah, no weapons are allowed inside of the dungeons. You are our prisoner.”

Melisandre huffed. “But I get them back when we leave, yes?”

“If you leave.”

An excellent point. The cell door slammed shut and Melisandre gripped the bars tightly, giving them a light shake. Very solid. Well there went escaping, should the dwarves have gotten to that point.

As Legolas walked away with her weapons, Melisandre sighed and turned back around, leaning agains the bars.

“Alright, lass?” It was the unmistakable brogue of Dwalin.

“I’d prefer not to spend the rest of my days in a cell,” Melisandre retorted back loud enough for him to hear. She could only tell that he was across the way, and down a few. “But that seems inevitable if no one comes to a conclusion that a deal can be struck.”

“And what exactly were you talking to the King about for hours on end?” Thorin’s voice suddenly demanded. He was close to her, perhaps next door. “Friend of elves and you had failed to mention that?”

“We’ve met when I was young. That was all. Perhaps only spoke for five minutes then.” Melisandre rolled her eyes, glancing to where Thorin was in his cell. Though she couldn’t see him, she hoped he heard her exasperation. “And this time, it was more a conversation about the dragon. He knows that I am brought along to slay it should it wake, and I learned more about the dragon that came to Erebor rather than hearing just that it was massive and bold.”

“Such as?”

“It’s a rogue dragon from the north, even farther north than my people lived in. And it is a dragon that has a wingspan of at least two hundred feet, meaning it is a mountain dragon, not a cave dragon. The span of it’s fire is at least five hundred feet and like liquid flame instead of balls of fire. The dragon itself has to be over a hundred feet long.” There was a grumble. Though, it hadn’t been the elves that had told her this information. Gandalf had, which was exactly what convinced her to come along this quest. “The dragon doesn’t have leather skin, like the smaller ones, but instead stronger than steel scales. No mere sword will pierce it, but instead an iron arrow if given the chance. The mouth of the beast will swallow a grown human whole with plenty of room for another. And that dragon could fly for hours on end without tiring. If it wakes, that dragon could destroy half of Middle Earth with its wrath before settling down.” She had hoped the message got to him enough. “It’s imperative that dragon doesn’t wake.”

“That is why you’re here to slay it before it does, should it be alive.” But Thorin seemed to have forgotten the immensity of the dragon, and seemed to be struck as if staring at it himself. There was silence. Melisandre couldn’t slay a dragon that had a skin as hard as that, without the dragon somewhat awake.

“Well, we won’t have to worry about a dragon if we are stuck in this dungeon,” Balin stated. “So, we had best just sit here and count our blessings we aren’t burning into crisps.”

“Durin’s day is in a week,” Thorin snapped. “We don’t have time to sit here and count any blessings.”

“A deal was our only hope, Thorin.”

“Not our only hope.”

Melisandre sighed before she leaned against the bars again, sinking down to the ground. From that position, she could see the lights from the festivities above. And with that, the promise of merriment.


	5. Dragonborn Comes

Getting into Laketown was tricky. But with one look at the barrels Melisandre had barely managed to squeeze into, there was no way she could stay holed up in there for the entirety of the trip. And she was quite certain escaping was only going to piss off the elves more in relation to the dwarves. For her… well, she wasn’t sure. But they would no doubt be less than pleased with her.

 

Bard was an interesting fellow, agreeing to help the dwarves if only they agreed to a payment – as there were guards. Melisandre had forked over her gold without hesitation. The orcs were still on their trail, and Kili’s wound was not going to make them move any faster. It was how she was going to get to Laketown that would be difficult.

     

“How far is it to the town?” she questioned Bard.

 

“About a half hour.”

 

She nodded. “And how cold is this water?”

 

“Cold enough for ice to stay afloat for a few weeks now.” So winter had struck early here. And it was too cold to stay in for a while. “I can go in the water. I will not fit into the barrels,” Melisandre spoke.

 

“The guards will see you.”

 

“I’ll hold my breath,” Melisandre returned. “It’ll be fine.”

 

Needless to say, she was not a warm, nor happy camper, once they finally managed to swim to Bard’s – as there was need to go in the water anyway. Her lips were blue, and her teeth chattered, but she didn’t feel as cold as she thought she would. She wondered if that was part of her… magic. Once they go to the house and the Company started to shed their wet layers, Bard began passing them a few of his son’s clothing. And for her, she was given something of similar size from his eldest daughter.

 

“Thank you,” Melisandre said quietly. And even the privacy of one of the bedrooms in which to change, as well.

 

When she returned to the sitting room, all of the dwarves were in dry clothing, and there were clothes piled on top of one another in front of the fire. A sure way they would never dry by morning. And Bard was no where to be seen, which surprised her.

 

“You aren’t a dwarf,” Bard’s son observed. Melisandre couldn’t help but smile.

 

“No, I’m not. Good eyes,” she said, accepting a warm bowl of soup from the youngest daughter with a thank you. “I’m a shield-maiden from the Northern Wastelands.”

 

The youngest that had already moved on to Kili beside the woman in question, gasped and rushed back towards her. “That’s where the dragons are from!”

“Tilda! Be polite, please,” the elder sister, Sigrid, scolded. Melisandre didn’t mind. She simply squeezed Tilda’s hand back, that had taken hers, in silent agreement that it was where dragons descended.

“Dragons come from your lands?” Bofur asked in surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

“It wasn’t important. Dragons spawn in the lands I traveled. How do you think Gandalf thought I would be useful to your quest?” Melisandre rolled her eyes, glancing towards Tilda, curiously. “You’ve heard of the dragons from the north?” For mere peasants, she didn’t expect that. Most stories in the south, from what she had observed, were written down and only for those privileged. The legends that reached people were watered down or inaccurate. But this seemed to be true.

“Da told us stories about them all the time when I was little,” Tilda admitted. “Not anymore, though. But the Dragonborn was my favorite story! I always used to dream that I was a Dragonborn!”

“A dragonborn?” Thorin questioned, his eyes darting to Melisandre in distrust. “What is a Dragonborn? Your people descend from dragons?”

“No. It is a legend that sprung up from my people during hard times. A person said to bring my people hope.”

“Do you know it?” Bain, the boy, asked eagerly. “The legend?”

“Aye,” she spoke cautiously, her eyes darting around not only the humans, but also the dwarves. “It is common amongst my people, to tell the legend to each other. The Dragonborn is a signal of hope and peace. Of the ends of hard times, drought, famine. Aye, I know the legend.”

Sigrid pulled Tilda down beside her, looking eager herself. “Could you tell it to us?”

“It’s not a story to be told,” Melisandre admitted with a shake of her head. “It’s a song.”

“Then can you sing it?” Bain asked. “Da only knew little bits of the legend. We didn’t know it was a song-”

“I’ll sing it, but I’m afraid I don’t remember much-”

“You grew up there for twenty five years, lass. Surely it doesn’t leave overnight.”

“I’ve been gone for nearly five years,” she reminded Dwalin. “It’s a long time when you’re chasing Orc packs that travel south.” He glanced away from the flame-haired woman and Melisandre sighed. “Very well. A song it is.” She set the bowl down on the table, and closed her eyes as she began.

“Our hero, our hero claims a warrior’s heart,” she sang gently. “I tell you, I tell you the Dragonborn comes. With voice wielding power of the ancient lord arts. Believe, believe the Dragonborn comes. It’s an end to the evil of all Middle Earth’s foes. Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes. For the darkness has passed and the legend yet grows. You’ll know, you’ll know the Dragonborn’s come. Ahh…ah ahah…” The words seemed to come to her like an ancient rite, one that she had been taught since birth. One she had sung with Rodair since she could speak. And one she had listened to long before. So the ancient tongue was easy, as she had not forgotten these words. “Dovahkiin, dovahkiin, Naal ok zin los vahriin. Wah dein, vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal. Ahrk fin norok paal gran fod nust hon zindro zaan. Dovakhiin fah hin kogaan mu draal.”

Melisandre’s eyes opened and she lifted her head to see Tilda jittering in excitement. And the boy, Bain, looked confused.

“You speak the ancient tongue?” Sigrid gasped. “What did it say?”

The translation was quick. “Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn. To keep evil forever at bay and the fierce foe rout when they hear triumph’s shout. Dragonborn, for you blessing we want.”

Tilda seemed to frown. “So the Dragonborn’s a man? None of the legends I’ve heard said specifically.”

“The Dragonborn legend is fiercely protected by my people,” she said gently to the girl, to keep her hopes up. “They make no mention of the savior being a man or a woman, just that they swear their honor, keep evil at bay, triumph… they have the power of the ancients. It could very well be a woman. Anyone, even a hobbit or a dwarf or, say, an elf. The song is just written that way to allow for translator’s to make the distinction themselves. The word, though, doesn’t mean man or woman. It’s just a person.”

Tilda seemed to perk up with that. But her questions didn’t relent. This is what Melisandre had feared. The questions. “But what’s the Dragonborn to do? How do you know if they’ve come?”

Melisandre closed her eyes once more. “The dark times were what we called them. When dragons ravaged the north, tearing our homes apart, burning our people alive. The Dragonborn, when they were to come, would put an end to our suffering. They would ride through the North, and liberate my people. There is no sure sign of the Dragonborn. But the old crones in my village would whisper about crops flourishing the year they were born. About seas swelling. About the sky never ending a beautiful weather pattern. And the Dragonborn itself would slay it’s mother at birth, as a sacrifice. A sacrifice in which the the Dragonborn would learn humility, loss… Any suspected Dragonborns where I am from are sent to the wastes to be raised. And if the crops do not flourish, and the seas do not swell, and the weather is not beautiful, or the drakes attack, then they are brought out of the woods and their training for battle and war and honor is ended.”

“Really?” Bain questioned. “But how do they survive in the wastes?”

“The warrior of the village, too old to be effective in battle, care for them. A wet nurse is always available for the babes, but the men put a sword in the child’s hands before they can walk.”

“And you? How did you become so apt at sword?” Thorin asked suddenly. So he was catching on.

“I killed my mother at birth,” she answered quietly. “The crops flourished for a few years, but they failed when the rain came. The lands flooded, and the seas swelled, and my people starved. I was eight then. I encouraged them to seek higher ground, to farm with, but they would not listen. The storm had canceled any claim I had to the title. And then the dragon came and killed everyone from my village. Everyone died. I only survived because the elves from the Mirkwood Forest arrived at a good time.”

“The King of the Forest also said that you slayed the dragon yourself.” Melisandre winced as Thorin revealed that information to the others. Wonderful. Now the questions would never cease.

“But… but-” Tilda’s eyes grew wide with wonder. “You were thought to be a Dragonborn? You killed a dragon?”

“Oh, aye,” Melisandre smiled, politely towards the little girl. “And I was quite good with a sword and bow. My horse skills were unparalleled to my people. They raised me as if I was a goddess reborn onto Middle Earth.” But her smile dimmed. “When I lost my people’s faith, those that did believe in my attempt at saving the crops, moved towards the hills. And we flourished there. Crops never failed, and the rain kept them plenty wet. And the valley below us flooded from the seas. My people never lived on the hills, because there was a fear associated with it. That drakes would find us and wipe us out. And they did.”

“So… so does that make you-?”

Melisandre laughed quietly. “No, child. That doesn’t make me anything. A few pretty words don’t make you a Dragonborn. Nor does an upbringing of people devoting their time to you. Or insisting you’re something you’re not. Only few believed me, Tilda. And even few stuck by me in the end, to keep me trained in case all else failed. A backup. Anyone with common sense could see that to avoid the flood you had to live uphill. Those that stuck with me didn’t revere what I said, they had come to the same conclusion themselves.”

“So… do they still believe the Dragonborn will come, then?”

“No,” Melisandre said quietly. “There is hardly anyone left to believe in the legends anymore. Most of the drakes have killed us. It was why I traveled so far south. I lived where the Misty Mountains are mere hills dreaming of being as tall as their ancestors. Where the rivers all start. Where the caves are as large as whole cities and as deep as entire mountains. Where gold dwells in the land untouched by man. Where no one lives in any permanent residence for fear of bringing ill luck upon their family. When the lands were scorched and the people dispersed, so did their hope.”

“But surely someone still believes in the Dragonborn,” Tilda insisted.

“Well, don’t you?” Melisandre asked with a small smile. “It is foolish to hope for someone, when they will never exist.”

“But you made all the prophecies come true. Flourish crops, swelling seas-”

“Not the perfect weather, the dragons came,” Melisandre returned. “It rained and it rained hard. Fires stopped camps from being warm at nights. And the blaring heat in the summers prevented water to hold long. There were frequent trips to the basin below to water crops just in a day. And the dragons destroyed everything. No one survived.”

“But… surely someone still is out there who could be a Dragonborn?” The girl’s hope was endearing, but Melisandre shook her head.

“You needn’t worry about it.”

“They say in the Iron Hills that a Dragonborn will be immune to fire.” Melisandre giggled at Balin’s declaration. “And can ride a Dragon, if they get close enough.” Bain seemed to recognize the legend, which mean they had reached here as well. Melisandre, if she was honest, had no idea how long the legend had been circling. She just knew it was amongst her people the most, as it was the origin.

“The first, I’ve heard,” Melisandre agreed. “The second is foolish. Riding a dragon is a sure way to get yourself killed. I’ve seen it.”

“Another says they’re immortal,” Balin finished. “Unable to be killed.” Did he suspect? Melisandre swallowed.

“I’ve heard it as well,” Melisandre agreed. “But that’s impossible. Even elves die.”

“You made no mention of this legend before,” Thorin stated. “Why not?”

Melisandre snorted. “We had more important things to worry about than child’s legends. My training has proven to be sufficient, but it is of no consequence to the quest on what it meant.” Thorin had to agree. “They’re just stories.”

“These are the best we’ve got,” Bard said suddenly, and she were so relieved by his entrance, that she sank into her seat and grabbed the now chilly soup. A wet bag was thrown onto the table and Thorin opened them to spot weapons. A few fishing items, other things that would do much damage in battle. But Thorin and Dwalin seemed to think it was rubbish. And when Bard made mention of the armory, Melisandre knew that their glances to each other were less than innocent.

Except she didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to throw all of their weapons onto the injured man. If anything, she expected them to only get what they needed, and nothing more. But that was a long shot. The next she saw them from the time they managed to disappear, they were in the middle of a crowd, and she was pushing herself past everyone to get to the front. Her armor had dried quicker than their clothing, and so she was wearing it once more, which caused people to move as soon as she asked.

Otherwise, she doubted so.

“And who’s this?” A voice asked. Melisandre glanced up to see a snake of a man staring at her, looking less than pleased at seeing her. “Indecently dressed, I might add.”

“It’s hardly indecent,” Melisandre answered sharply. “I’m a shield-maiden. And this is my armor. I would ask why you’re dressed in rags, but I don’t wish to insult you.” The man curled his lip. And that was how you got the story of the armory. And though you shot a glare at the dwarves, for obviously being unable to stay out of trouble, Thorin wouldn’t keep his mouth shut when Alfrid questioned why you, a human – and a woman, shield-maiden or not, were traveling with dwarves.

“She’s the Dragonborn.” Melisandre shut her eyes as if the light blinded her at Thorin’s proclamation.

“Death and ruin upon us all!” the fat man cried. And Melisandre let out a sigh. Wonderful.

“She is the savior-”

“Even if this woman could be the Dragonborn,” Alfred cried, “the legends say that everywhere she goes death and destruction follows. And if we let you go into that mountain, the same will come out of it.”

“What?” Thorin asked as he rounded on her. “Death and Destruction?”

“Some more sinister whispers say that the Dragonborn will cause a line of death in their wake. And everyone they touch will fall.” Thorin’s eyes were wide in outrage. “If that were true, you would all be dead. If I were the Dragonborn, I would have killed all of you. Stop telling people I am, Thorin. I am not.” Melisandre turned towards the Master and the scrawny man named Alfrid. “He knows not with which he speaks,” Melisandre stated. “It is true, I am from the north, but I am not born of dragons. I will die and I will feel fire burn my flesh. If I was your Dragonborn savior, I would be sure not to hide it. I merely told them the story as a bedtime rhyme, and they believed that I spoke it as a biography.” Melisandre hoped her voice didn’t waver.

“How do we know you aren’t lying just to make sure we trust this one?” His gesture was towards Thorin.

“Try it,” Melisandre challenged. “Bring a fire forth. I will put my hand upon and you will all see that I am not immune to any fire.”

“Well, that’s easy enough to prove,” Alfrid spoke.

Melisandre clenched her jaw as she strode forward, the torch in the weasel’s hands held out towards the woman. She tossed her hair from her face, before she met Alfrid’s gaze. “I do this and you will what?”

“Why not let you drown, of course.” Melisandre was almost tempted to tell the truth then. But no. She began to untie the laces of the leather gloves covering her palms. And she placed the item between her teeth before snatching the torch from him, making him curl his lip at her. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and hearing the screams of her ancestors.

“Well, go on!” Alfrid cried.

Melisandre clenched her jaw and put her hand over the flames. It did not even tickle. But she hoped she was a good enough actress. She whimpered, but held fast, and after a few more seconds, she cried out, the leather glove falling from her teeth, and the torch was yanked from her hand sharply. She was surprised to see Bard there, and as he threw the torch aside, it went into the water, extinguishing.

“Making a girl burn herself for your pleasure, Alfrid,” Bard said menacingly. “In front of everyone. You’ve hit a new low.”

Melisandre added tears for the effect, sniffling as she clutched her hand tightly to her, the palm hidden in a clenched fist of pain.

“Well, let’s take a look, then,” Melisandre jerked away from Alfrid, glaring at him with as much hate as she could muster.

“Leaver her alone, Alfrid. She’s done nothing to you. She’s proved it.” Melisandre was breathing fast, and when Alfrid turned towards the company, he had slightly less gusto. As Thorin promised them all gold and flourishing riches, her eyes darted to Bard. He was looking at her, clearly wondering if she was alright.

“I’ll be fine,” Melisandre said quietly. “Thank you.” Bard clearly didn’t believe her, glancing at the hand curled against her chest.

The Company was given a warm welcome by the Master of the town, his greed for the gold outweighing the consequences of the city. And with a last glare towards her, Alfrid directed the dwarves and the hobbit into the home, but not her. Even hints of a Dragonborn was enough to ward her away. She did not blame them. She would have done the same.

As the crowd dispersed, Melisandre approached a dejected Bard, hugging his children close to him, protectively, as if he expected them to be snatched. Melisandre’s grip on her wrist and her clenched fist prevented anyone from seeing her burned palm. When he saw her approaching, he seemed wary of her, but he did not draw away or tell her to leave him alone.

“You must get people to evacuate the town tomorrow once they leave for the mountain,” she spoke under her breath. “There is no doubt that they will wake the dragon. And when they do… the dragon will go no where but here first.”

“No one will believe me.”

“I believe you,” Melisandre stated simply.

“There are guards that watch the entrances. No one leaves or enters the city without the Master’s permission.”

“Let me worry about the guards,” Melisandre stated.

“You’re injured-”

“I’ve done a lot more with a lot worse,” she stated. She reached down, picking up her glove. Her eyes darted to the dwarves being led into the Master’s hut. “I know you owe me nothing, but if I could see around the town, get my bearings-”

“First you should wrap your hand.”

Melisandre glanced at her hand, almost having forgotten about the burn. “Right. I should. Thank you for reminding me-”

“We’ve some extra cloth at the house,” Tilda spoke suddenly. “Sigrid is working on being a healer. She could wrap it for you.” Melisandre clenched her hand tightly, worriedly. But had no way to back out when Bard gave an agreeing nod.

“Yes, Sigrid can patch it for you. Come. I will tell you of the guard’s shifts and where the stations are.”

And while the dwarves feasted and ate well and drank wines, Melisandre learned the town as she walked back to Bard’s home. She learned the walk-ways, the short cuts, the number of stations – three – and she saw all of Bard’s friends that told him that it was well within the right to protest the waking of the dragon, even for a bit of gold.

People, she knew, would follow him to the shore if asked.


	6. A Warrior's Heart

She was offered lodgings for the night, which she promised would only be for one night, but Tilda wanted to hear more stories from her homeland, and Melisandre reluctantly, but happily, obliged. It wasn’t until the fire had turned to embers that the excited young girl finally began to sleep, and the others were already long since out.

So Melisandre closed her eyes on the set of blankets in front of the fire, and she too, attempted to get some shut eye, feeling much safer than she had in a very long time. But it wasn’t for long. A sudden gasp awoke Melisandre and she kept her eyes shut, listening in the house as someone began to breathe fast, as if frightened. Melisandre’s hand clutched the blade resting under her pillow, ready to attack. Light footsteps trailed past her towards the stairs, and then they disappeared. Once she was sure it was safe, she rose just enough to see the children’s beds. Tilda wasn’t there.

Getting to her feet, Melisandre checked the front door, finding that it was still locked from the inside, and instead crept where she had heard the footsteps go. Nearly halfway up, she could hear voices.

“Da?” Tilda whispered. Melisandre relaxed slightly. No danger, then. “Da?” There was a grunt and the sound of rustling as Bard must have woken in a start. “Da, it’s me. I've… I’ve had a nightmare, da… of the dragon.”

“There will be no dragon coming,” Bard promised, his voice very heavy with sleep, but she heard him clear his throat. It didn’t help. “Come here.” Melisandre knew she should go back, but she couldn’t help but listen in as the bargeman comforted his daughter. And Melisandre closed her eyes, imagining her own father. He had been gruff, stern, and forced her to grow up – to counter fear with steel and arrows. To fear nothing that could be killed. And when Melisandre had had a nightmare, he would tell her to stop acting like a child, to leave him alone. But not Bard.

“I had a dream that the dragon burned the house down, and that Melisandre tried to kill it with the black arrow from your stories, but the dragon burned her. And then you tried, but it didn’t work, and you fell off of a tower into the fire and water, Da, and it… it was so frightening.”

“Hush, now. It’ll be alright. If any dragons wakes up, they won’t be coming to Laketown. That I can promise.”

“But Melisandre said-”

“I know, but this is what I’m saying.” Melisandre squeezed her eyes shut. Lying to the girl wouldn’t be a comfort when it did happen. “No dragons are waking. You’ve my word. And if they do, I’ll strike the black arrow right through it’s hide, like the legends say.”

“Did Ma believe in the legends?”

“About the dragon? Oh, aye, she believed them so much that she even kept a pack full of things to heal dragon burns all the time.” Melisandre felt a brief smile light her face. “Salves and wrappings. Anything she could think of. And she would always tell me that the dragon would come when Durin’s sons came to take back the mountain. She didn’t lie.”

“I used to think I was the Dragonborn,” Tilda said quietly. Melisandre started in surprise. “But… I can’t be, can I? Because we don’t ever have enough food and the lake hasn’t risen. It’s just gotten smaller.”

She could hear Bard sound like he was struggling. “We do the best we can with what we have. The Master just regulates how much I am able to go to the Woodland realm. Once this quest with the dwarves is over, business will be back and running, you’ll see.”

“Ma would have gone fishing no matter what the Master said.”

“Aye, and I would too, but if I’m sent to prison, Tilda, you will have no one to put food on the table. Sigrid isn’t near done with her lessons and Bain and you are much too young.”

“I know.” But she sounded defeated. “Can you tell me about her?”

“What would you like to know?”

“How did you meet?”

Bard’s voice was gentle as he told the tale of the Market being full of people back when Laketown was flourishing under it’s old Master. And he had bumped into her just by chance, sending her into a barrel full of fish. “She smelt of fish for weeks, more so than the city smells of it.” The city sure did smell of it.

Melisandre backed down the steps, having heard far more than she was meant to, but she crept back to her blankets, shoved her dagger under her pillow, and shut her eyes. But she did not dream, nor did she sleep that night. Instead she thought over the tale of the Market, and the lost wife that no longer seemed apart of this small family’s lives.

She was curious as to when the woman had died. How long the children had been without. Melisandre could relate to being without a mother. Her own had been killed in birth, and she had been mostly raised by swordsmen that pressed for battle honor, not bedtime stories. And certainly her father never cared a lick. Only Rodair had told her whatever story she wished to know. Settling down by the fire, listening to the crackling of the logs as they neared their end, her fingers touched the pendant hanging from her neck. All she had left of him. The pendant he said her mother had given to him. The dragonborn’s stone. It looked like fire, swirling around in its hard casing. And the way the crack was on the back, it looked to be in the shape of a dragon. On the nights she thought of home, it was particularly comforting. She fell asleep clutching it to her.

By dawn, the city was bustling with life. She could hear boats taking off for the day’s work, and markets opening up for trade. The day had come. The day they would wake the dragon. It was foolish to think that they wouldn’t. And secretly, she was on Bard’s side. She agreed wholeheartedly. He would be the one to see the town burn, and the rest of them were to surely die as well.

The boy was the first up, Bain. And as he went about his chores, she pulled herself off of the ground, grabbing the blankets and folding them, placing them where she had seen Sigrid take them. And then Bain was out the door, a fishing net and rod with him as he seemed to be prepared to do something for that morning. Bard’s steps came lumbering down the stairs, waking the girls.

“Thank you, for letting me stay last night.”

He merely gave a nod. “You will go to the mountain?”

“They don’t need fifteen people in that mountain, to be fed to the dragon,” Melisandre said wryly. “I will try to go, but Thorin will likely have me stay behind, where I will try to evacuate the city discreetly. The less casualties the better.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have your work cut out for you. The Master will not allow it-”

“The Master is no concern of mine-”

“It’s a concern of mine if they feel I am aiding you.”

“But you won’t be,” she assured him. “I will be acting alone.”

“How can you fight anyone with your hand wounded?” Melisandre glanced down to her bandaged hand, frowning. She had forgotten again. “Unless it’s not burned.”

Melisandre glanced up at him sharply. “Of course it is. You watched me place it over the fire. And you watched Sigrid wrap it.”

“The mark I saw on your hand was not a burn. It was pink, red, as if you had slapped cattle.” Melisandre snorted, not cueing him in on that being exactly what had happened, but it didn’t seem appropriate to admit that. “If you will bring death and destruction, I do not want you in my home.”

“If I was the Dragonborn, I would not have come to a civilized location. I have heard the stories of death and destruction. Why would I knowingly put others through that?”

“Why do you assume that these people will die if they aren’t evacuated as soon as the dwarves leave?”

“You and I aren’t fools, Bard,” she snorted. “You know they will wake the dragon. And you know it will come here. The stories of Dale are proof enough of that. Dragonfire will fall from the heavens and consume this wooden town like it’s kindle for a fire. Get your family out of here tonight,” she urged. “Otherwise, there will be hell to pay when the dragon comes and chaos for those that do not heed my warning and stay.”

Bard hesitated, glancing to the girls making up the bedrolls in the far corner of the room. He then glanced back towards Melisandre. “I cannot leave the city. There is no place to go.”

And she knew there were orcs in the forest. But Melisandre gave a small nod. “I can take them to the shore, near Dale. They will be safe there for now. With the others for protection. And then I will return to help with the others that refuse to leave.”

“Can you guarantee their safety?”

“I can promise that they have a better chance at living if they leave than if they stay,” Melisandre admitted.

He swallowed, before nodding. “Then take them. There is a boat downstairs.” She knew.

“Pack all the things you consider valuable and I will put them in your boat, and will make sure it makes it out of the gates. You are close to the west.” He shut his eyes, as if he wanted to fight, but knew it was futile. “I will not put your children’s lives in any more danger than they would be if they stayed.”

“I trust you.” He seemed pained to admit it. “What happened to your people?”

Melisandre hesitated. “They still live. Some. Those that live in the hills. Those that I had lived with, died in dragonfire.” Bard swallowed. “My fellow swordsman keep the few other settlements protected, but they cannot do much against a dragon.” He seemed to agree. “They endure and they live, though not as well as I would like to see them live.”

“How many of you are there?”

“In the surrounding areas of where I traveled? Maybe twenty five to forty,” she admitted. “Total? They are dwindling with the orc packs coming from the grounds. But enough to endure.”

He looked her over once more. “May I see your hand?”

Her brow crinkled in confusion. “Why? It’s just a hand with burns on it. Letting it breath could cause it to become infected-”

“I will be quick.”

Melisandre stiffened as bells rang. “That is my cue to say farewell to the Company. Perhaps are they are gone, I will resume this conversation. But I doubt it.”

“Are the legends true?” She met Bard’s gaze, levelly. He did not believe her, no matter what she said to counter his thoughts.

“No. And if they were, I would not be the Dragonborn, Bard. Leave it be. And if I were to be the Dragonborn, why would I try to help, if I know death and destruction follow?”

“The Dragonborn has a warrior’s heart.” Melisandre glanced away. “I heard the song. It all fits.”

“I am just a shield maiden.”

“Who are you trying to convince?”

But she turned, leaving out the door, not answering him aloud. But her thoughts rang in her head.  _Me._

If she had not been the Dragonborn, she would not have to live with the guilt of seeing the people she had grown up with dying in a fire storm. She would have perished with them. Or at least, when she fell from the dragon. But she wanted to save these people because she wanted to give them the chance her village did not have.

As she made to join the Company in the boat, the two brothers and the healer resting on the dock – Kili’s leg seemingly worse now than it was ever before - Thorin suddenly put a hand at her shoulder. “No.” Melisandre glanced up at him, confused. But he was staring at her with something he hoped she would understand. But she didn’t. A warning? A plea.

“My job was to go into the mountain with Bilbo-”

“You are better suited here, with your own people. Should the dragon wake… it is best that you are here to protect my nephews.” Melisandre swallowed. No, she had to go and kill it before it could attack the lake, if she was allowed to go. But if she stayed- “You will need to save as many people as you can.”

Perhaps he did believe the dragon will wake. “I cannot kill a dragon here,” Melisandre argued quietly.

“And you cannot kill anything with a wounded hand, either,” Thorin pointed out, to her bandaged hand. Why…. That stupid party trick. She should have never suggested it. He gave a small nod to Fili and Kili, and Oin. “Stay with them, keep this town protected.” As he climbed into the boat, he turned back to her. “Because I know you will not burn with it.” Melisandre felt her eyes go with with panic. “I have seen people burn, and I myself have felt fire. You would scream a tad louder.” She swallowed, but he did not seem to condemn her for lying. Instead, he seemed resolved to a fate he was making for himself. “Get them out, if the dragon comes,” Thorin said quietly, glancing once more to his nephews. “They are my heirs.”

“I will guard them with my life.”

And her job of dragonslayer changed to bodyguard.  She merely nodded and watched as he climbed into the boat. And as she watched them row away, Bofur soon joined the pack of those left behind, asking if they missed the boat too. But Melisandre just stared after the boat, worry pooling in her stomach. Now it was certain, they would wake that blasted dragon.


	7. Fire & Smoke

She glanced out of the window, and despite Kili’s groans, knew they had to leave soon. The sun was setting, and the Company would have reached the mountain by now.. “It is time, Bard. Keep the dwarves protected for me, and I will take your children away from here.”

Bard pulled his children close, explaining to them quietly the precautions they were taking. At first there were the expected protests, but then Sigrid and Tilda glanced to Melisandre, seeing her gripping a blade tightly – one of the blades the dwarves had insisted were rubbish – and glancing out the windows towards the mountain every few seconds, as if it would change. The setting sun made it easy to see the horizon, for any large flying object. “She will keep you safe.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you, Da.”

“I can’t leave these people here knowing that it could very well mean that they will die. I will help get as many out as I can.”

“But Da-”

“No, Bain. Go with Melisandre and protect your sisters.” The makeshift weapons were packed into the boat last and Melisandre climbed in, before making sure the children drew their cloaks around them. She turned towards Bard, standing at the edge of the tether, holding the ropes tightly.

“Make sure they are safe over there.”

“You have my word,” she promised quietly. And Bard could only give a nod before he tossed the ropes to her and gave the boat a gentle shove.

By the time the sun had nearly reached the bottom of the sky, the boat touched shore and she could see a few more people that had fled pulling loved ones from their boat. Melisandre recognized a few as people that had been in the market. Some of Bard’s faithful friends. Hurriedly unpacking the items inside – mostly healing things, food, blanekts, clothing, a few personal trinkets, Melisandre grabbed Sigrid’s arm. “Stay with them, and do not attempt to come back to Laketown. Make sure no one lights a fire, or they will draw dangerous enemies to you and you will be slaughtered. Everyone stays quiet, use the weapons to arm yourselves. And do not do anything foolish. Do you understand?” The young girl nodded jerkily. “I’m going back to help your father, and I trust you’ll do your best here.”

“Of course. But if they don’t listen to me?”

Melisandre gave the girl a smile. “Then you make them listen to you. You’ve a voice, and you’ve a pair of hands. You’ll figure it out.”

“What… what if the dragon comes?”

“It won’t find you here. You’re in the hills, protected. But it will come for Laketown, which is why you are here. Stay here. And if more come, tell them exactly what I told you. No fires, no loud noises, and arm yourselves in case Orcs come.”

She just nodded again and Melisandre shoved the boat back towards the water, and then she was rowing back to the town, with a fervor she didn’t have before. Time meant lives.

Melisandre stood on the balcony of Bard’s home, overlooking the mountain, anxiously. She had done all she could to get the gates free, and to help people into their boats as discreetly as possibly, and she could still see few boats streaming across the lake. No one in large quantities, but some were better than none. At least some would be spared. It had been tricky, trying to get the guards out, but knocking them out for a few hours usually did the trick. And by the time they woke and noticed people leaving, it would be too late to stop anyone.

But the reason Melisandre had been standing on the balcony was because Bard had yet to return with his black arrow. Melisandre wanted to look, but she had made a promise to Thorin. Protect the nephews. And it hadn’t become more important than the moment the Orc dropped off of the roof.

Her dagger was quick to strike and then the sound of the roof collapsing inside made her sprint through the doors. Oh, Mahal. Orcs. And it looked like the pack that had followed from Mirkwood. Wonderful.

And Kili could barely keep his eyes open. The fishing weapons were easy to use, and she was able to cut a few down, but the she-elf was a surprise, and the blonde that arrived moments later was also a surprise, but welcomed. Legolas.

“Elves stumble upon me,” Melisandre said dryly, and Legolas couldn’t help but laugh as he shot an arrow at another Orc. The combined effort was appreciated, and when the Orcs retreated, Fili pleaded with Tauriel, the she-elf you had been introduced to in a breathless grunt as she stabbed an Orc through the neck, to help them with Kili.

“Tauriel, they’re getting away,” Legolas spoke.

“I’ll go,” Melisandre spoke. She glanced to the elf woman as Legolas jumped down. “Once he is healed, if you could help them to the boat downstairs and get them in the direction of the shore… I know it is much to ask, but-”

“But the dragon could wake,” Tauriel spoke. And she gave a nod.

It was all you needed before you ran out the door, towards the pack of Orcs attempting to run away. Legolas was swift with his bow, and equally as harsh with his twin blades.

And just when the evil seemed to be gone, the last Orc falling into the water, and her elven companion and her walking back to Bard’s home to see if they had yet to leave, her hope that perhaps Thorin hadn’t found the way into the mountain in time, and the hope that they hadn’t woken the dragon was swelling, when the rumble sounded. The loud rumble that sounded as if the mountain had exploded. As if it were rolling towards them. And she closed her eyes in despair. “The dragon has woken.”

“We need to leave,” Tauriel spoke up, and Melisandre glanced from the red-headed elf to Legolas.

“I need to find Bard,” she spoke up, glancing to Fili, Kili, Oin and Bofur. “The boat is tethered in the downstairs. Take it and get yourselves out.” Melisandre glanced to the two elves. “You two are also welcome to it. Leave quickly, and without delay. It will be no time at all until the dragon is upon us and it’s best you aren’t in the city when that does happen.”

“You will die in the fire,” Tauriel urged. “Take the boat with us.”

“No,” Melisandre said simply. “I won’t.”

“It is true. My father has fought alongside her in the north,” Legolas spoke. “She immune to the fire.”

“The legends… you said they weren’t true!” Fili whispered, overhearing.

“You’re the Dragonborn?”

Melisandre swallowed. “And death and destruction is in my wake.” She reached for the quiver of arrows she had recovered from the orcs, and nodded to the elves. “Take them. Get them to the shore. Those are the heirs to the throne, and I’ve made the king a promise they’ll be safe.” Moving towards the door, she grabbed a dagger out of an orc in the doorway.

“I will go with Melisandre,” Legolas spoke to Tauriel. “Go.”

The elf needed no further command, bringing them down the back stairs and out into the chaos.

Melisandre did her best to help people into their boats, directing them to the quickest gates, climbing over some boats, shouting to people to leave their possessions behind. They could be replaced, but lives couldn’t. But hardly any listened to her. And none listened to Legolas.

But the two found Bard easily enough, just as the first wave of Dragonfire ravaged the city.

Trying the bars, they were too strong to take off the hinges, and too heavy to try and break apart. Melisandre felt her eyes scan around her. No keyrings. Nothing to pick locks.

“You are said to have the power of the ancients,” Legolas spoke slowly. “Can you melt them?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know of any powers.”

Legolas held out a hand. “Take my hand, and repeat these words.” With her other hand, she placed it over the lock of the door, and she channeled the ancients and their powers, murmuring in the ancient tongue the means to Bard’s rescue, the words that Legolas said to her until she could get them right. The lock seemed to melt away at the extreme heat that she was channeling from her palm, and then the door squeaked as it jerked back towards her.

Legolas took his hand back, in awe. “I did not think it would work,” he admitted.

“I don’t even know what that was.”

“The ancient tongue had spells of enchantment, channeling power. I leant some of my elven power, but… it has never worked like that for me.”

Bard was staring at her incredulously, though. “Why are you here? The dragon-” As if on cue, there was a roar and then more fire could be heard as people screamed. The screams of those dying and about to die. Melisandre didn’t wait for Bard to finish, instead grabbing the two men’s hand. “The black arrow? Where is it?”

“By the house. I had to act quick-”

“Go to the bell tower. I’ll get the arrow and bring it to you,” she told Bard urgently. And she thrust her quiver and bow into his arms. “Take these and try to delay the dragon.”

“My children-”

“Safe. Legolas’s friend is heading towards them now with the dwarves.” Bard exhaled, nodding. “Now, go,” Melisandre urged.

But Bard ran off, and Legolas just gripped his twin blades tightly, before nodding to Melisandre.

“I follow you.”

She didn’t have time to argue. They raced down the stairs and into the streets, where people were no longer trying to load their boats, they were just trying to leave.

“I wish they would have listened sooner,” Melisandre muttered, but they did not stop.

Melisandre grabbed Legolas as she saw fire raining down and forced him to move out of the way as the wall of fire consumed the street he had been about to turn on. The flames instead licked against Melisandre’s body that was acting as a protective shield. She could feel the heat, but not the pain. And then she grabbed Legolas’s arm. “Make for the shore. I have to finish the rest on my own. Soon Smaug will have the whole town in flames and you will burn.”

“And if the dragon isn’t stopped?”

“Then I will stop it myself.”

But Legolas glanced up at the sky, before giving a small nod. Suddenly his hand came upon her shoulder, and he gave her a wordless look, that clearly conveyed friendship and strength. “You are far braver than any man I’ve met.”

“No, I just know that I can’t die. That’s not bravery. That’s living.”

Legolas smirked. “I will see you on the shore.”

“I’ll be the one with only armor, and no clothes, as they’ll likely all burn off, but then what else is new?” He gave a laugh and clasped both of her hands.

“Kill this dragon.”

She had every intention. She dived into the fire, as he disappeared, helping an elderly couple push their boat in the direction of a gate, and the flames obscured her vision. And she likely would not have made it, had it not been for the fact that Bard had helped her memorize the paths to the important locations. The jail was near the Master’s home, so the path was nearly familiar.

Bard’s home remain untouched, but the flames were heading in his direction. She didn’t know where exactly by the house he could have hidden the arrow, but she glanced about, thinking of hiding places. And was not disappointed when she turned the corner to see a dark corner nearly a block away from his home. Exactly where she would have hid an unassuming piece of black iron.

An arrow fell from the sky suddenly, and Melisandre glanced up to see the dragon so close that she felt as though it was nearly on top of her. Oh, goodness. The dragon was… it was much bigger than she thought. And she truly felt fear for the first time in her life. A fear that nearly caused her to stumble into the water. But then her gaze followed to where Bard was, and she was running, the arrow gripped so tightly into her arm, that it was cutting into her palm. The climb up the rickety tower was likely more dangerous than facing the dragon. She practically tripped over her feet, trying to get to the bowman.

“Bard!” she shouted, and the steel arrow found its way to his hand by some miracle. “Strike it true. It’s where the legends say. The loosed scale. I saw it-”

He grunted, and grabbed her arm. “What are you doing? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“We both truly know that I won’t be dying today,” Melisandre returned over the roar of the dragon. “Shoot it now!”

“My bow is broken.” But it didn’t stop him.

She just knelt down so that she was the proper height, and closed her eyes, as she heard the dragon surging closer. And then the arrow was released, in a quick burst that made her gasp. And as her eyes flew open, she was suddenly being jarred, as something crashed into the wooden tower, and then her and Bard went tumbling into the water, them both crying out in alarm, and once submerged, reaching for each other blindly in the dark water.

Just the sound of the dragon crashing into the water told her that the mission had been successful. And she felt the wood begin to fall on top of them, blocking out the clear top of the water.

She awoke gasping as she was dragged to the surface. And the unmistakable blonde hair of an elf was standing over her, him equally as sopping wet as she. Legolas.

“You’ve swallowed some water, but you’re alright-”

Melisandre, indeed, coughed some up, before she turned on her side, her arms sore, but she used them to pull herself into a sitting position. “Bard… He fell into the water with me-”

“He’s fine,” Legolas said, offering a hand to help her stand. She took it, squeezing it tightly as she felt a bit dizzy. “He’s already heading for the shore.”

“You were supposed to leave.”

“I saw you fall, and decided that even if you claim to be immortal, they don’t have lakes in the Northern Wastelands, and you likely couldn’t swim.” No. She couldn’t. That was… well, smart thinking.

“Thank you, Prince Legolas. Truly.”

“My pleasure.”

“Elves seem to come to my aid, often,” Melisandre admitted quietly. Her eyes scanned the city around her. Most of the fires had been put out as the lake water met the flames, but the destruction was great. She could not see an unburnt part of the city from where she stood.

“It’s dawn,” she found herself murmuring.

“Nearly,” Legolas agreed. “I’m sure we’ll find a boat that can take us to shore.” And sure enough they did. But the lasting fire and smoke around them caused their companions to weep most of the journey. And Melisandre wondering what the count would be for those who survived, out of the three thousand that resided in the water-bordered city. And how many out of those were injured or needed serious medical help.


	8. Not Today

She hadn’t fought any battles against a large group of people before. The Orcs she had chased were small groups, and the Orcs near Rivendell were nothing compared to these. A war. She had not been expecting to fight in a war.

Melisandre glanced around her, her sword given back to her from the elves slicing through yet another Orc. It seemed the blonde elf came out of nowhere, knocking her aside as his arrows shot towards an orc that had gotten close without her knowledge.

“Why, thank you, Prince Legolas,” she said with a dip of her head.

“I had to return the favor.”

Melisandre laughed, ducking under a blade. An Orc came particularly close to her, sending her reeling back a few steps, before she suddenly gripped her blade tighter, and drove it through the Orc. “Not today,” she spat, and kicked the Orc off of her blade. She then spun around, moving Legolas out of the way, before her blade slashed at another of the beasts.

“We were just even!” Legolas cried. But when Melisandre glanced towards him, he looked a tad relieved. She gave him a grin.

“You’ll just have to make it up to me, then.”

“How?”

She winked, and Legolas seemed utterly baffled. But their lull in the battle was over as more of the enemy arrived.

Fighting in the streets of Dale was a less than ideal location. There were hidden corners, spots in all locations that Orcs seemed to stream through. And as one came from a roof above, not even the sky was safe. When Melisandre heard the screams of what sounded like children, she did not hesitate. She instead ran towards the sound, into a building and found a small group of children, with two menacing orcs. She was swift with one, the blade hitting it before it even knew she was there. But the other was given the warning, and was much more brutal because of it.

He sent a kick to her, sending her reeling, her blade falling from her hand and skittering across the floor. As the Orc stood over her, she scrambled back a few paces, her hands protesting at the rocks on the floor that dug into her already healing palms. After this, she was going to need a nice, warm bath and some healing salts.

The blade came down before she could block it, piercing her unprotected leg. She cried out at the pain as the Orc jerked his sword back out, and her hand pressed against the bleeding wound. Oh, it was immeasurable, the pain she felt. Far worse than the arrow in her shoulder outside of Rivendell. Far worse than falling into the water from nearly fifty feet in the air.

She did her best not to scream in pain, and stared at the orc with rapid breathing. What if she bled out? If she bled to death… would she wake? She didn’t think that would happen. Her blood was flowing much too quickly to clot, and the Orc was staring at her with a grin, like he had won. And just as his blade was about to come upon her, his head flew off.

Silver hair and silver armor greeted her vision, and she recognized the man, just barely. Thranduil.

“Elves are always trying to finish what I start,” Melisandre muttered bitterly, but in good humor. She cried out as she shifted her leg, and glanced down at it. Already, a pool was forming around her. Thranduil, himself, looked grim.

“Perhaps we will find an answer to the question we wish to know.”

“I’d prefer not to know today,” Melisandre ground out. She whimpered as she removed her hand, and saw that the sword of the Orc had been jagged, doing more damage coming out than it had going in. Thranduil walked over to the human children, and did not ask before he tore off a piece of the skirt. He did not seem to care whether it was dirty or not, as they both knew that infection did not matter. She was immune to that. But bleeding out – it was unknown what would happen.

He bound the wound tightly, slowing the bleeding, but not halting it all together.

“You need to be healed immediately.”

“All of your elves are in the middle of a war,” she muttered. “I don’t think that’s an option at the moment.”

“You will need to be take to Mirkwood,” Thranduil seemed to decide. He rose suddenly, and bent over her, and he was lifting her, as if carrying a small, sleeping child. He did not seem to feel any weight difference between the two, though she was sure there was a significant one.

And her eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to keep the pain from causing her to cry out. There were no Orcs in the area. It was best they kept it that way. But she could see an elk, as she opened her eyes. The same elk, she recognized, as the one that she had seen in the North. There were the same markings on it’s face. As if from battle. Scars.

He slid Melisandre onto the back of it, passing her her weapons, and then a piece of silver fabric, one she recognized the last time she was in Mirkwood. A handkerchief to match his silver and orange robe. Indeed, on the other side, it was the same flaming orange color. She bunched it in her hands, glancing to him in confusion.

“Present it to the elf that finds you. They will know I sent you-” And he began speaking lowly to the elk, telling it instructions, and then as she gripped the elk’s fur tightly, the large beast was off. Each step the creature took was agony, sending her into bursts of pain when he jumped over a fallen body or dodged an Orc.

And she did not know when she passed out, but she just knew that her grip on the elk remained tight. She awoke to someone touching her, a hand uncurling her fist, and she blinked wearily, seeing a woman elf pulling the handkerchief and then shouting something behind her. And Melisandre was falling, sliding off of the elk, onto the floor as her eyes fluttered shut once more. And then the war, the battle, and Orcs meant nothing more to her than a dream she could not escape.


	9. Evergreen Home

She felt warm. Not the kind of warm like she was surrounded by a fire, but a warm where she was covered by a blanket and a fire was being tended to near her. The blanket was soft, whatever it was, and thick as it felt like it was weighing her down. And the bed underneath her was equally as soft, cushioning her and curling around her body.

The first thing she smelt was mint. It was not harsh, but a subtle hint of it that seemed to surround her. She breathed it in, finding it rather calming, and when her eyes opened, she saw that she was in a light room. The walls were made of trees, grown so close together, that they became one. And she could see a stretch of vines overhead to make a ceiling, but light was able to shine through.

Ah, Mirkwood. The events seemed to come back to her. The elk riding through the battlefield, the reaching of the forest, and nearly passing out as someone took the handkerchief. And then she was passing out, falling off of the elk.

She pulled the blanket away from her, groaning slightly as her body protested, and spotted the bandages wrapped tightly around her exposed leg. She was wearing a white cloth shift, a nightgown really. And the various cuts and scrapes that were on her arms were nothing more than pale scars. She glanced up at shifting, and spotted the King of Mirkwood sitting beside the bed.

“You’ve been asleep for three days.” Gripping the edge of the covers, he pulled them over her once more. And then he passed her a cup of tea, which was exactly what smelt of mint. She took it, careful not to spill, and sipped it, the aroma making her relax slightly. “You nearly died in the hands of my healers.”

“Maybe you need new healers,” she said with a small quirk of her lips.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “Once I arrived, I have made sure that your wounds have been tended to by a skilled healer.” You raised an eyebrow, not seeing anyone but him in the room. “Myself.” Ah.

“Why?” Melisandre murmured, setting the cup down atop the blankets. “Why go through all this trouble for some human?”

Thranduil considered the question as he sat back down in the armchair, leaning back and stapling his fingers over his knee. The question seemed to be one he thought of himself, because the response came sooner than she expected. “A debt is owed. You have saved my life, and I have done my best to save yours.”

“Does your son get your competitive side?” she asked curiously. “He seems to feel the need to have a one up frequently.”

“A trait I’m sure is hereditary,” Thranduil murmured. “Yes.” But the talk of his son seemed to pain him and Melisandre made a note not to mention him again. She wondered… had something bad happened to him in the war? Dead? She had hoped not. The elf was not like the others. He had a sense of adventure, a sense of doing something that was out of the norms. He was a good friend to have.

“The battle… what happened?”

“As you expect, we won,” Thranduil intoned. “The Durins, however, were not so lucky. Slayed by the Defiler.”

Melisandre frowned. Oh. She wanted to weep for them, but she found that she couldn’t. She had always kept a distance from them, not wishing to make things too personal. And they had always kept their distance from her. But she had made Thorin a promise. A promise she had failed in once the two brothers had gone to the mountain, leaving her behind. Though, she was inclined to admit that they had thought her dead at the time. And no doubt, they did not know she had even lived past the attack on Smaug. She had never seen them again. When the battle started, she stayed in the city, assigned to protecting the women and children. A duty she had fulfilled.

She wondered if they mourned for her, even when she couldn’t mourn for them.

“You aren’t too heartbroken.”

“They were friends, but… do you weep for friends you only knew for a job?” Melisandre asked. “I… I did not come onto this quest to make pleasantries. I did so to kill a dragon.”

“Something you succeeded in.”

“Something Bard succeeded in. I merely grabbed the arrow and gave it to him.” She gave him a wry smile. “It’s nice not to be the hero for once.”

“I would imagine so, but I do not know the feeling.” She snorted, but it sent a throb of pain through her. “The Durin funeral was yesterday,” Thranduil spoke suddenly. “They were buried in the mountain, Thorin with his stone and his sword, and the two brothers with their weapons.”

“So he will always be the king under the mountain.” It was fitting, for a man that had given up so much. That had a lot taken from him, to be given something in death. She glanced down to her leg. “What will happen to my leg?”

“We are only able to repair a little bit at a time,” Thranduil said fluidly. “The muscle suffered the most damage. Once we were able to stop the bleeding, we had to keep you asleep so that you could replenish your blood supply without moving your wound.” She nodded. “The leg will be healed by tomorrow. As for your bruises and tender limbs, I’m afraid that I cannot do anything for that.”

“I feels like I fell from a dragon,” Melisandre admitted. “I’ve never been in battle before, not like that.”

“I would imagine not, in the North,” Thranduil spoke. “Finish your tea and then you need to sleep.”

“Has everyone else survived, besides Thorin and his nephews?” she found herself asking, as she sipped from the warm tea. It caused her to relax again, not realizing how tense she had gotten in the conversation.

“Yes.”

“So, they’re living in their homes of Erebor or Mirkwood?”

Thranduil hesitated, as if he knew what she was truly asking. “Tauriel wished to go South. But I suspect she will return soon once she realizes the danger posed there. Legolas has gone to the North, where he is searching for a ranger on my request. He does not wish to return, nor do I think he will.”

Melisandre frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“A thing that happens.” Thranduil stood. “I will have a servant bring you food. I am sure you’re hungry.” She was famished.

The next day, after Thranduil finished his work on her leg, she lifted herself over the side of the bed, a pained gasp leaving her, but otherwise she was alright. “Do you require assistance standing?”

She wasn’t sure. She sucked in a breath, before pushing herself from the bed, and once she gained her balance she exhaled. It wasn’t so bad. Her leg protested, sore still, but she was able to take a few steps, at least. “I suspect you will not be completely healed until into next week. Your body is already healing itself.”

She did feel better than yesterday, at least. Melisandre winced as she lifted her leg experimentally, before placing it back down. “Another week?”

“I suspect not even a week. But you need not worry. You are welcome here, as a guest.”

Melisandre hadn’t quite forgotten. There seemed to be no wrong she could do in the eyes of the elves. She could feel her leg start to fail, so she sat heavily on the bed, wincing slightly in pain. “Why did you do this?”

“A debt.”

“I’m apart of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. I mean, I escaped your kingdom and technically stole thirteen barrels from your wine cellar… Isn’t that treason or something?”

“I’m sure it is, but it has been a thousand years since I’ve read all the laws of the realm.” Melisandre glanced up at him. “I saw you save my son’s life in battle.”

“He had saved mine in Laketown.”

“He says that you saved him again in Laketown, from being burned,” Thranduil spoke dryly. “Why?”

Melisandre blinked. “You’re asking me why I saved your son?” Thranduil did not answer. “I… I don’t know. It was the right thing to do.”

Thranduil merely gave a nod, as if it explained everything. The next day, she woke with the elven king informing her that he was going to take her walking. “Why am I getting personally treated?”

“I’ve told you time and time again, a debt.” Melisandre still found that hard to believe. But she let him take her arm, and winced as he helped her stand. As they began walking, the steps so slow that it was hardly any distance covered at all, she began to notice that the soreness in her limbs were fading.

“You’re still healing me.”

“I cannot heal your bruises while you are still. It requires circulation.” Melisandre just felt incredibly surprised. But Thranduil did not seem to want to bring too much attention to it. So she let it drop. She had not received such personal care while in Rivendell, so the idea alarmed her a tad.

It was nothing short of strange and flattering. “When was this kingdom built?”

“Near the time I was born,” Thranduil’s curt reply came. Melisandre took a deep breath as she spotted stairs in the distance. “The palace was built first, as there were not many elves in the kingdom them. And eventually homes were built out of the ancient trees, providing a location for the silvan elves.”

“Silvan elves?”

“There are different races of elves. Sindar, which is what I and Legolas are, are the purest of elves. The wisest. The Silvan are the lowest, unwise, yet dangerous. And there are the Noldar, which are in between. They were exiled by the Valar.”

“Exiled?”

“Bitter wars and pent up anger against one another,” Thranduil stated off-handedly. “Perhaps you would like something to eat?” And as she took her first step onto the stairs, it was not as bad as she thought, but her grip on Thranduil tightened as she realized there were no rails. Which meant plummeting to another death. “We’ll rest in the solar room.”

The solar room was exactly what she expected. The trees did not cloud the sun from beaming onto the dias and a table and chairs were a welcomed sight. Despite him doing whatever healing he had been, she was still incredibly sore on her leg.

But it was not until after the light meal of fruits and vegetables was over that he gave her the task. “My son, as you know, has gone North to find a ranger by the name of Strider.” Melisandre gave a small nod. “I would like to hire you to follow him, and eventually join him on his quest. You know the lands well. You can protect him.”

Melisandre frowned slightly. “You’re hiring me?”

“It is my understanding you did not get your share of the gold in Erebor,” Thranduil spoke. “As per your agreement.”

She shrugged lightly. “I only intended to take care of the dragon, and I didn’t fulfill that duty. Bard did. Therefore, I didn’t really do my end of the bargain.”

“Then you would be twice as agreeable to this venture.”

She met his gaze, levelly. “I do not require payment. I go where I am needed.”

“And right now my son needs you. He is young to this world, and though he has proven himself as a guard, he has rarely left the borders of this kingdom. And you have all the knowledge of that land that needs to be had to survive.” Melisandre nodded slowly. “Watch over and protect him for me.”

“Of course,” Melisandre said carefully. “I assume I will be leaving as soon as I am well?”

“That was my intention.”

She just nodded. “I will only need a horse and enough provisions for two weeks in order to catch up to him.” Thranduil gave her a small smile, before dipping his head.

“Of course.”

And that was how the evergreen home she had for the last week became the evergreen way station, where she was only to stay to rest before she was off on another mission. Or rather, another adventure. 


	10. A Princely Quest

Her steps faltered as she approached the elven stables, full of horses and elk for the guards. She did not think she would ever see that horse again. Her eyes darted to the King beside her. “She reached us a few weeks ago, but it was not until you came here yourself that I knew who she belonged to.” Melisandre released a breath and approached the mare. She was still as strong as always, and her saddle was outfitted with things she had left on her in Rivendell.

“You amazing creature,” Melisandre murmured to it, her hand running down the horses’s snout. “Her name is Dragonfire.”

“An apt name.”

Melisandre, however, focused more on the fact that this horse had come over hundreds of miles unharmed, with even her daggers still stuck on the saddle. She unsheathed one, seeing the carved dragon tooth. Melisandre put it back. “She is outfitted for your travels. I have provided you with a year’s worth of lembas bread.” Melisandre glanced to him, her expression confused. “It is a an elvish waybread. One bit will fill your stomach.” Oh. Efficient.

Melisandre dipped her head to the king. “Thank you, very much, for all you have done, King Thranduil.”

The King inclined his head, as she had done, not bidding her farewell as he had with the elvish hand to the heart. She pulled herself onto Dragonfire, who stomped angrily. Melisandre giggled, smoothing her hand over the creature’s mane. “It’s alright. We make for home, Dragonfire. Come.”

The doors to the opposite end of the stables opened, revealing a patch of forest. And she kicked her heels into Dragonfire, before they were off.

If there was a good thing that came out of the war, it was that the population of Orcs near northern borders had diminished. The path that she was riding was so familiar that she felt nostalgic. Once the Misty Mountains became hills, she knew that she was on the paths she took as a child through the lands. That these were the paths she had taken when she had fled her lands, as well. What broke her heart the most was the charred remains of caravans that had been pummeled by dragons. Or Orc raids, as a few had evidence of orc arrows protruding from the ground nearby.

She wondered just how many of her people were left.

If there were any left.

She rested every few nights, to get sleep herself. And she only rested in the day for Dragonfire to rest herself. But it was not until nearly two and a half weeks into her journey that she came upon tracks. They were barely distinguishable in the grassy plains, as elven feet were so light of foot, but it had rained recently, so the dirt was loose and muddy. And the imprint of an elven boot - as the boots had soles of carved leaves - stood out faintly. So Legolas was close.

She froze as she heard a bow being drawn and swallowed. Dragonfire, in the distance, shifted, but did not move away. The shadow of the figure reflected just to her right in the grass, and she felt herself murmur. “Had I known a prince would be finding me, I likely would have bathed in the last stream I passed, not just ridden through it.”

“If I had known I’d be meeting you, I likely would have done the same, Dovahkiin.” Melisandre heard the bow drop. “What are you doing here?”

Melisandre turned, standing. “What are you doing in my lands?” she asked back. She could see a good natured grin on the elf’s face. “Need I remind you, I know these lands with my eyes closed.”

Legolas stepped down from the rock, landing beside her onto the grass and Dragonfire snorted in warning. He approached the mare cautiously, his words low as he murmured to it in a language she didn’t understand. And then once he touched her head, Dragonfire relaxed. “My father sent me here to find a man by the name of Strider.”

“Which is why I was sent to follow,” Melisandre shrugged. “To help. Strider, I don’t know.”

“He’s one of the Dunedain,” Legolas stated. Well that was news. Melisandre blinked.

“Those I do know.” She gestured west, towards the mountains in the distance. “He’ll be south of them, in the valley near the borders of the Shire. That is where the Dunedain ride. My people kicked them out of the wastelands long ago when they attempted to rule over us.”

“Not fond of half elven kings, I take it?”

Melisandre smiled. “Only full elven people, it would seem.” He quirked an eyebrow, but she pulled herself onto her horse, not permitting the flush to flood her cheeks. A silly remark that had made it seem like flirting. She recovered quickly. “Don’t tell me you’ve already lost your horse.”

Legolas smirked. After a shrill whistle, a white stallion came trotting out from behind the rocky craigs. Ah, well, she supposed he hadn’t. Melisandre gave him a smirk as they rode.

By the time they reached the western mountains, the lembas bread was nearly gone between them. Her gaze flicked about the rocks that lined the mountain’s edge. “Have you ever actually hunted in the north?” she questioned. Legolas glanced to her in confusion.

“Hunted?”

“With a bow and arrow. Are you not skilled enough to hunt a wild animal?” She didn’t know where the teasing jab came from, but was pleased when Legolas shot her a glare, pulling his bow off of his shoulder.

“The question is if you are.”

Melisandre smiled, and dismounted, walking towards the rocks confidently. “The one to catch the biggest game wins.”

Being an elf, he had centuries of practice on his side climbing mountain, and she only had the heavy footfalls of someone that was still gaining strength in their leg. So that was the only reason he won the little friendly competition. His arrows went long and far up the mountainside, causing the food to fall to him, instead of her having to go to her food. She shot him a look of contempt, though he could not see it, as she tossed the crow to the ground near where they were setting up camp.

He came by a few minutes later, with a small rabbit.

“I win,” Legolas said simply.

“And just what do you win?” Melisandre asked, curious. But Legolas didn’t seem to come up with anything good enough to be deserving of someone that shot a rabbit instead of a crow. She still insisted that the crow was much harder to shoot.

As they began to cook their meats, he spoke. “What happened to you in battle?”

She glanced to him in surprise. “You didn’t know?”

“You went into that building but never came out. And when I went to look, you were not there. I thought Orcs had taken you.”

“An Orc had stabbed my leg, and was about to stab me once more, when your father came and killed him, before sending me on his elk to Mirkwood.” Legolas raised both eyebrows in surprise. “I was healing there for a week. My leg muscles were damaged pretty badly.” He glanced down to the leg she gestured to. The leather armor concealed the top of the wound, but even if she couldn’t feel anything anymore, she still felt weaker. “And then I was off to find you before you did anything stupid.”

“Me, stupid? I didn’t run into a building with Orcs.” Melisandre gave him a bright smile.

“Maybe not, but you did ride one of those large birds upside down to Ravenhill. I’ve heard the story.”

“Did Tauriel tell you that?”

Melisandre frowned. “No. She’s heading south for some reason or another. Your father doesn’t suspect she’ll be gone long.”

He seemed to contemplate that. “No, probably not.” He finished off what little bit of his rabbit he had eaten, before offering the rest to her. She took it gratefully. “There can’t be much meat on a miniscule crow.”

Melisandre shot him a glare. “It was a very fat crow.”

“Which was why it did not get away.” Melisandre laughed, picking at the rabbit in her hands.

“You are probably right, Prince of Mirkwood.”

“I’m not a prince out here.” He took in their surroundings. “No one is.”

Melisandre hummed. “The Wastelands aren’t that bad. Lonely, sure. And I do not even know who is left of my people. But they do not change who you are. They just change your company. And unfortunately, quite frequently.”

Legolas was silent, and when he did speak, it was a mere whisper. “I’m not a prince out here.”


	11. King of Dirt

It was just reaching sunset, nearly three years into their journey, when the tracks of a herd of horses came to sight. These Dunedain were much harder to track than they had thought. Melisandre glanced towards Legolas, before glancing around herself cautiously, as if they were aiming arrows at them. But Legolas seemed confident they would not strike, even if they were, as he continued riding, but at a slow pace. “They do not harm elf kind. As long as you stay close to me, you will not be harmed either.” Melisandre was a tad unsure, but kept Dragonfire mere inches away from Legolas’s side. Their legs touched once or twice in the thickly grown forest they were now in.

“You know this man?”

“No, but I have heard of him and his people. He is the descendant of Isildur.”

The name meant nothing to her. Legends reached the north, but none of kings and their descendents. They held no meaning by where she came from. There were simply caravan leaders, protectors, and then there were the others.

The sound of water made their horses halt and Legolas nodded to her. He dismounted swiftly before helping her get off herself, silently. And then they walked carefully in the brush, until the sight of a stream appeared. And a man was bathing.

“He will take less caution to see a woman approach, than a man,” Legolas said under his breath. “And I do not doubt he will be cautious. The Dunedain are hunted by some.”

“Then I had best go unarmed.” She passed Legolas a few daggers, as well as her bow and arrows, save for one arrow, which she knicked. “Well, not completely. He could be dangerous. We don’t know anything about this fellow, not even his name.”

Legolas merely snorted softly, and nodded. Melisandre was careful as she approached the river bank, where one man bathed. Undoubtedly one of the Dunedain, yet unlikely to be Strider. But perhaps lead him to Strider.

She lounged on a rock, watching as the man cupped water over his face, before scrubbing at his gruff appearance. He certainly looked as though he had been on the road for a while. Melisandre watched him for only a moment more before she began to play with his arrow, counting in her head how long it would take. But she hadn’t even made it into double digits before he suddenly stiffened. Melisandre glanced towards where she had last seen the elf, feigning ignorance as she heard the trickle of water as he tried to move discreetly.

Possibly towards a weapon. Yet he still hadn’t turned to her. Smart. So she took a wild guess that this wasn’t a pig-headed horse rider. No, he was someone much different. The one they were looking for. “They call you Strider, but that isn’t your real name. Real names… well, they mean a lot different to you and me than people may think. But you and I get how much people recognize our nicknames more - they fear us better.”

She heard him pause. “And what do they call you?”

“Melisandre is my name. Dovahkiin is what they call me.” Nevermind that they was just Legolas at this point. No one else really knew, besides the elves and those of the Company that had survived, what she was. And no one else but the elves knew she was alive. “It means-”

“The Dragonborn, I know the legend.” Oh, good, less questions then. He turned in the water and Melisandre was able to meet his eyes. Gray as the clouds, but his hair was as black as the night sky. “My name is Aragorn, but they call me Strider.”

“The heir of a throne far away from here,” Melisandre said suddenly, setting the arrow down and pushing herself into a sitting position. Aragorn was quite clearly naked as the day he was born, but her eyes didn’t linger. She just gave him a once over - as if evaluating, before she glanced back towards the trees, as if bored. “The elves know of you from what I hear, yet here you are in the forest of the North of the Shire, and not a penny to your pocket… well, not even a pocket, by the looks of it.”

“I am nothing more than a mere ranger, I assure you.”

“So a king of dirt,” Melisandre returned. Aragorn seemed amused by that, as the red-head glanced back to him. “Or since you’re in water, would your domain be water?”

“My domain is neither. I am not a King.”

“Perhaps,” Melisandre spoke. “But you were the one I was sent to find, then? Strider?”

And instantly, Aragorn was defensive. She watched as he reached for his sword a few yards from shore, and brandish it towards her. “Who sent you?”

Suddenly Legolas stepped out of the trees, speaking in an elven tongue that she did not understand, but just from the tone knew it to be an explanation and a promise that they were not threats. At least someone could think that. Aragorn’s whole countenance changed as Legolas spoke, but he still did not lower the sword. He finally glanced towards Melisandre, apologetically. “You did not say you were in leagues with elves.”

“I did not get the chance before a sword was being pointed at me. Me, a helpless woman that could not harm a soul.”

Legolas rolled his eyes, but helped the woman off of the rock that had been much easier to climb onto for some reason. Melisandre brushed off some dirt before she picked up the arrow, and twirled it between her fingers. And then she reached for the man’s drying clothes, tossing them towards him. “You had best dress yourself. I didn’t come here to speak to naked men. If I had, I would have dressed much more wantonly.”

Legolas sighed. “You’re flirting.”

“No, I’m merely stating a fact,” Melisandre shrugged. She glanced to Legolas innocently. “You were the one that insisted I approach, as I was a woman.” Melisandre waited for Aragorn to dress, before proposing the next question. “Are you alone, or will we be talking in front of your Company?”

“There are a hundred rangers,” Aragorn spoke. “They’re spread over a hundred miles. I don’t think you’ll get a formal meeting, if that’s what you wish.”

“We only came to speak to you,” Legolas stated simply. Aragorn sighed.

“I don’t suppose there’s a chance I get out of a meeting with a lone elf and a wild woman.”

“Shield maiden from the Wastelands,” Melisandre corrected. “Really? A wild woman? Maybe that’s a compliment.”

“I don’t think it was intended to be so, no,” Legolas admitted.

But they stayed with the ranger for another three years, their friendship with him growing into more of a brotherhood. One where she learned just exactly the curse of the Dunedain. He would grow older at a much slower rate than their fellow men. And she would never grow older.

But it was not until they were leaving to return to Mirkwood, that Legolas told Aragorn of his father’s wish. “My father was approached by Lord Elrond, asking that you come to Rivendell every decade, so that they may keep contact with you.” Aragorn merely inclined his head, and the Elven farewell followed with Elvish words Melisandre still didn’t understand.

As Legolas’s horse took the first few steps of the journey, Melisandre approached the man that understood the pain of outliving loved ones. “Be careful,” she requested. “Afterall, you are a king. And I have already seen one fall before he could sit on the throne.”

“Well, aren’t you a cheerful person?” Aragorn asked rhetorically.

Melisandre laughed, giving a nod to the young man. But before she could turn her horse, she thought better of it. “Can I ask you something?” Aragorn merely raised an eyebrow, waiting. “How old are you?”

“I’ll be reaching forty in a few months time.”

Melisandre felt her eyebrow lift in surprise. “Well, let us ride into our forties together looking forever youthful, my friend.”

As Melisandre steered her horse away, she heard Aragorn’s start of surprise. “I did not think that legend was true. No one but the elves live forever.”

Melisandre smiled brightly, glancing over her shoulder as Dragonfire made to follow Legolas. “A woman should never reveal her age. But no, we are not too far apart. I will forever remain twenty in body until my body decides to surprise me and I die, or I live forever. I do not know which will happen.” She laughed quietly. “I will see you in a few years in Rivendell, and we will see if there is an answer to that question. For those who never age, the world is a remarkably small place.”

“Farewell, Dragonborn.” Melisandre just nodded once more, before quickly following Legolas before he gained too much ground on her. He was far too competitive for his own good.


	12. Big, Wide World

Though Legolas intended to go to Mirkwood right away, they ended up heading to the Northern Wastes for a few months on end. She showed him a few of her favorite spots, and they even rode as far west as the Light of the Valar, glowing brightly in the sky towards the other beacon in the south that was too far for even her to travel, and through dangerous lands that were too treacherous to think of.

Melisandre felt the ground underneath her as they laid a few hundred miles from the Grey Mountains, that they only needed to cross before they reached Mirkwood. They were about a month from their journey, riding hard.

The stars shined brightly tonight, brighter than she had ever seen them. “I used to never sleep if I could not see them,” she said quietly to the elf laying beside her. They could see for miles around them, so there was no use setting up a watch. And while he did not sleep, and she slept only a few hours, they knew they would not stay long. “Now, sometimes I can sleep with them, and sometimes I cannot.” She paused. “I have changed.”

“The best of us change when we are introduced to new things.”

“Tell me about something,” Melisandre requested, her voice soft.

“When I was just a child, probably the age of five in human standards, I was given my first bow and arrow.” Melisandre glanced to him, surprised by such a story. She was hoping for some history lesson or a tale of something funny. “I was young, but my mother thought me ready.”

“Your mother?”

“My father wished to wait until I reached Elvish maturity, which is near a century old.”

“And how long is five, then?”

“About twenty years.” He glanced to her. “May I continue, or will you ask questions?”

Melisandre snickered, but glanced back to the sky. “Forgive me.”

“My father protested, until he came across me shooting arrows at the trees in the practice yard of the palace. I hit my mark every time.” He glanced back to the stars as well, taking his gray eyes off of her. “My mother would take me there every day, while my father attended to his duties in the palace. She was simply the princess, and my father the prince, but it was something that gave him the responsibilities and she almost none.”

“Who has taken the prince’s responsibilities with you gone?”

“My father will be able to give them to someone he trusts,” Legolas said after a moment. “Likely an elf from Lorien, where his kin came from.”

“Did something happen?” Melisandre asked. “Between you two? He seemed sad, as if you had died in battle. And you don’t refer to his kin as your own. But you still call him your father, so you obviously love him very much.”

“Did you love your father?”

“No,” Melisandre said quietly. “No, I don’t think so. He never loved me. He treated me as if I was a demon, as if I had destroyed my mother and would destroy him, too. And though I knew it wasn’t true, he did not change. I was never shown any love from him. No, I didn’t love him.”

“I love my father, but he sometimes an unreasonable man.”

“Perhaps. But he also cares for you a great deal. He let you go find Strider because he knew you could not stay in Mirkwood. You’re different, Legolas.” Legolas glanced to her in surprise, but she stared at the stars, not looking away. “You have adventure in you, a yearning to do something different. And your father must see that.”

“And you? You’re different.”

“Yes, but… I don’t even know what I am, or why I am this way. All Lord Elrond could tell me was that Lady Galadriel of Lorien would know something about me.”

“We could ride for Lorien, before we go to Mirkwood.”

“No,” Melisandre said after a moment of thought. She felt like with the years she had stretched out in front of her, immediate answers would make for a boring rest of her life. “No, we can continue to Mirkwood. That’s alright.”

Legolas glanced back towards the big, wide world, unsure if she was being honest. She wasn’t sure either. “Have you ever studied the stars?”

“No,” Melisandre admitted.

“One day I will have to tell you about them. The stories that are associated with them.” That sounded nice. And so they laid in silence, and even after Melisandre had fallen asleep, Legolas did not get up until the sun was rising and she woke, ready to get going on their journey.


	13. Dodging & Weaving

Mirkwood was sicker than Melisandre had ever seen it. The entrance to the Old Forest Road was covered with spider webs, and bodies were wrapped up, long since picked from life. Their horses stopped at the gates, and Melisandre knew that Legolas was shocked. His frown betrayed it on his otherwise perfectly composed face.

“We can go around,” Melisandre suggested after a moment, shoving her hair from her face as the wind blew sharply from the north. Legolas slid from his horse, his bow out, as he cautiously approached the hanging sack. Melisandre drew her own bow, but did not get off of Dragonfire. The old horse that would soon reach the end of her days with all this danger. But a faithful horse that still did not tire. “Legolas? We should not get closer-”

But he simply shot the body down, pulling the thick web from the piece. Melisandre watched as he reared back, as if shocked. And she felt her stomach sink, hoping that he didn’t know who it was. “Elves,” Legolas said after a moment. “Guards that were probably sent to deal with the nest.”

“Which means they’re growing bolder in the forest,” Melisandre said quietly. But Legolas was turning, moving towards his horse, and the wind blew again, causing her to sweep it from her face. When he climbed on, he steered the horse so that it was facing her, Legolas mere inches from her side. She stared at him, confused. “What are you doing? Do not tell me that you are going to order me to the Northern Waste after all of this adventuring we’ve done together.”

“No, your hair is annoying you as much as it’s annoying me.” Melisandre frowned in confusion and when a gust of wind blew, he raised an eyebrow as if he had made a point when it got into her eyes again. “I will braid it for you.”

“Braid it?” Melisandre asked slowly. “Whatever for?”

“If we are going to go to the source and see how many spiders there are, I can’t have you half blind,” Legolas stated. Go to the source? Of the spiders? Judging by the fact that two ancient elves with fight skills beyond her comprehension could not survive, what made him think they were going to?

“If you feel inclined,” Melisandre said carefully, and she turned her horse so that Legolas had better access to her hair. “I’m afraid my hair is rather dirty, as we haven’t seen a stream in days-”

“As is mine. You need not worry.”

She shrugged, feeling as his fingers gently pulled all of her hair off of her back, and ran his fingers through it, as if combing it, before he began to section off the entire piece, creating a long, thick braid down her back. She felt like she could unobstructedly see for the first time as he tied it off with a piece of leather. She didn’t realize she was flushed until his horse stepped away, and she cleared her throat, her fingers lightly touching the hair so as not to mess it up. “Thank you, Prince Legolas.”

“I have said it before. I am not a prince in the wild.” Melisandre disagreed. He was certainly a prince everywhere. With the sure energy he commanded himself, that did not come from a sure soldier, that came from a prince. With the way he led, the way he spoke to others - not just her.

“You’re still a prince at heart,” Melisandre said at last, releasing her braid and turning to him fully. He was staring at her, a twinge of confusion on his always passive face. “Shall we kill some spiders?”

“Look at spiders,” Legolas corrected.

“And yet think about killing them,” Melisandre finished.

Legolas chuckled. “With pleasure.” She grinned, gripping Dragonfire’s reins tightly, before digging her heels into the horse’s flanks. And Legolas was instants behind her, as they rode hard to the south, the sight of the rocky crags and ruins their destination.

They reached it in a week, spending day and night riding only as hard as their horses could go. When Dol Guldur was reached, the webs surrounding it made it barely distinguishable. They made sure the path they took to get closer was with the lightest steps they could manage, and Melisandre held the reins of Dragonfire tightly, knowing that they’d have to split at a moment’s notice if spiders spotted them.

By Melisandre’s count, there were at least a hundred spiders crawling over the old fortress. And no doubt more in the forest. “There’s no way we could take them.”

“But we can burn them out,” Legolas murmured.

Melisandre stared at him incredulously. “Weren’t you the one telling me to just look?”

“All we need to do is light a torch on fire and-”

“And what?” Melisandre stiffened, her grip on her reins ready to flee, but anyone that spoke Westeron could not have been a spider. She stared straight ahead, but her eyes darted slightly towards Legolas beside her, to see that he looked perfectly relaxed.

“Have you been following us since the road’s entrance?”

“Curiosity’s sake,” the elf spoke. Melisandre turned slightly, seeing that it was a dark haired elf, in clothing that reminded her of the guards that found her in the woods nearly a decade ago. And considering she was found trespassing, again, on the King’s land, she didn’t think that it was something to be taken so lightly the second time around. “Your father would never forgive us if we let you wake the spider nest and get yourself killed.”

Legolas sighed. “Very well, then we will be going.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to take you to the Kingdom.” The conversation continued in Elvish, obviously to keep Melisandre from hearing whatever they were arguing about. If they were arguing. Elvish sounded to sing-songy to really be sounding angry.

“Then we go to my father,” Legolas finished shortly.

The ride was long, as they had to go around the southern tip of the forest, and Melisandre felt a saddened smile touch her lips as she saw Erebor once more. Even from where they were, she could see the torches lit, and the flags waving a banner she remembered seeing on the quest - the Durin flag. Only no Durin heir reigned there now. She had heard Lord Dain had taken over.

But the palacial entrance of Mirkwood was ornate, an entrance she never remembered entering through before. It was a pathway paved with trees on each side, with crystal lanterns hanging down that were glowing brightly, with a light she had never seen before, but it was not fire.

A guard met them at the door, and they were forced to dismount, before they were both disarmed. Well, perhaps it would not be a warm welcome, after all. “The king is waiting.”

They seemed to take the long way up the paths until they reached the familiar throne room, where the King was sitting on his throne, unchanged by time. Unchanged at all.

“You’ve finally returned.”

“It took three years to find him,” Legolas spoke in response to his father. “We remained for another few years, and it took another few to get back.” Thranduil merely quirked an eyebrow. “When we saw the road blocked by webs and the bodies of elves, we decided to take a longer route, when your guards came upon us.”

“Yes,” Thranduil drawled. “And just what were you doing in Dol Guldur?”

“A reconaissance mission,” Legolas said blandly. An elf spoke in the tongue she could not understand, causing Legolas to glare at him, but Thranduil to rise.

“A foolish mission that will only lead to you being killed,” Thranduil spoke sharply. Ah, so he had mentioned the fire.

“In all fairness, I was against the plan,” Melisandre spoke up. But Legolas get you an amused look, that clearly conveyed you were lying. “I mean, I was… once I saw how many there were. I didn’t want to see if being eaten would pass the test on what to kill me with.”

Thranduil reached the bottom of his steps, and strode towards them. “They’re still spawning, in even larger numbers. Tauriel wished to take them out at their source. If we could still do that-”

“Tauriel is no longer in charge of the guard.”

Legolas paused, confused. “Then where is she? Surely she is still not traveling?”

Thranduil paused, adjusting his robes as if fidgeting. “She attempted to kill the spider nests alone. She did not make it past the front gates. I do not expect you to follow her to the grave.”

Melisandre swallowed in surprise. Legolas seemed astonished.

“Tauriel is dead?” Legolas whispered, and he sounded much more affected by the news than a simple relationship between fellow guards. But Melisandre supposed they were much more than that. They had chased an Orc pack into Laketown, had fought beside one another, and had followed each other blindly. They had been as close as they could get, though she suspected they were not quite lovers. He made no mention of her in an amorous way. “When?”

“As soon as the war was over, she left. Not soon after she died.” Thranduil glanced from Legolas to Melisandre. “And you still live. And still look young. How went your travels?” The subject change was not lost on either of the newcomers.

“We found Strider, and he has agreed to return to Rivendell every decade, to send Lord Elrond his well wishes. The group he is with is very widespread, but what concerned us more were the Orcs that were becoming bolder, traveling south and heading into habitated areas. There were few run-ins, but more than seemed commonplace.

“He and Melisandre have become good friends. Apparently, humans that do not age are … rare.” And though Legolas meant it as a joke, Thranduil looked far too interested.

“Have you?” Thranduil asked Melisandre, intrigued. “How curious.”

“We are both of the race of men, destined to outlive all of those we could ever hold dear.” She gave the king a wry smile. “But he holds dear an elf that will outlive even him. And I… well, I will probably be cursed to outlive everyone, even the elves.”

“The time of the elves draws to a close,” King Thranduil said quietly. “Even us, in this sheltered realm, recognize that. Within the next century, we will sail to the undying lands. And leave this world to be destroyed by men. The darkness grows stronger.”

“You would forsake the people that you have spent millennia counseling and aiding and protecting?” Melisandre questioned. “What about Bard and his family? If darkness grows stronger, then they will be killed. And so will everyone thousands of elves died saving. Thousands of men. And hobbits. And dwarves. And anyone left behind.”

“And what would you have me do? Stay here, let the light of the eldar leave me, and wither?”

Melisandre swallowed. “I.. I wouldn’t have you do anything. It’s not in my place to order you. And I have no understanding of elvish… life cycles. I just know that even I, who has never wanted long life or expected to live as long as I have, will not forsake this land. Even if I am the last person to walk it, I will still defend it.”

“A noble proclamation,” Thranduil spoke. He turned. “Welcome back to Mirkwood. You will find your chambers to be the same as they were when you were last here, Miss Melisandre. And Legolas… perhaps we had best have a discussion in private about disobeying my orders when I close a kingdom down.”

Melisandre glanced to Legolas, a twinge of worry coloring her brow, but Legolas gave a firm nod. “Of course, father.”


	14. Child's Play

Melisandre sat in her room, the sunlight warming her as she dried off from the bath that the maids had insisted on. She supposed she did smell like a horse, and looked even worse. So, she agreed, and her things had been taken to be cleaned. Leaving her in an elven gown.

It was strange. She hadn’t worn a dress since the last time she arrived here. It was … strange. But oddly liberating as she began running a comb through her hair, not having the clunky leather armor restrict her movements.

“Hair as red as blood, and in the sun as bright as fire, but when wet… it just looks like you have a head wound.” Melisandre glanced to the door to see Legolas standing there, dressed in fresh clothing as well. His hair was freshly braided.

“I know, apparently it’s a flaw, according to a certain elf prince.” But Melisandre’s tone was teasing and she turned back to the looking glass, the comb running through it one last time. “Is there something you need?”

“Archery contest? The palace grounds are free, and I think you’d enjoy a little survivor free competition.”

Melisandre paused, turning around quickly. “The ones your mother took you to against your father’s will?” Legolas gave a curt nod. “I’m in.”

He paused as he looked her over though. “Elven clothes suit you.”

“I feel out of place,” Melisandre admitted. She ran her hand over the silken fabric. “I’ve never worn anything so nice in my life.”

“You’ll need to pin your hair back. Would you allow me to braid it for you?”

Melisandre gave a small nod and Legolas stepped into the room, taking the comb from her hand before he began braiding it. Instead of closing her eyes, relishing the feeling of his nimble hands in her hair, she kept them open, watching him in the mirror as he worked. His expression was perfectly patient, though her hair was long. And though it was brushed well, there were still a few tangles he worked through delicately, as if her hair was a fine silk that needed to be kept in pristine condition. And once he finished the braid, he reached onto the vanity and grabbed a silver bead, slipping it onto her hair.

“These are made of the same silver as the hilts of our swords,” Legolas spoke. “The finest metals that can be harvested from the mountain.”

She turned in her seat as his fingers left her hair, and she pulled the braid over her shoulder, inspecting it. It was much more intricate than the one he had done outside the Mirkwood forest. This one had tiny braids within the braid, and little braided flowers created with his skilled hands. “This is… beautiful,” Melisandre breathed. She glanced to Legolas. “How on earth did you do this so quickly?”

“Hundreds of years of practice.” She’d say.

“I’m afraid I will ruin it.”

“Then you’ll have to order me to fix it,” Legolas said simply. “Are you ready for shooting?”

She nodded, quickly standing and reaching for the bow she had insisted be kept in her quarters. Her bow.

The training fields were just as his stories described. Trees lined the edge, with stumps much closer to them also. She could see thousands of arrow notches in the bark, that seemed to grow over as the trees grew more, but were constantly beaten on with practice and precision. With Legolas’s permission, she approached the wethered stumps, her fingertips lightly running against the smooth bark until it hit its first imperfection.

“They do not go very deep.”

“These arrows are not made to go deep, potentially harming the tree. They are more blunt, and stick, but do not penetrate more than a few years of growth.”

“A nature-friendly shooting range,” Melisandre remarked. “I’m impressed.”

“Would you like to see who can shoot the most? Whoever can shoot the most into a single tree shall win.” Legolas had a barrel of arrows beside him near the carven line in the floor. And she moved towards him, seeing another barrel equally as full. “Competition.”

“Child’s play,” Melisandre returned, but picked up her bow from where she left it to rest. She grabbed an arrow. “These trees are massive. Only a five year old would miss. Or a blind elder.”

Legolas hummed, as if she made a valid point. “Then you should have no objection to these trees.” His arrow sailed past the stumps closer to them and into the wall of trees that made up the back barrier, so that they did not fly into the forest, or even the palace. It was at least a hundred feet away, and a massively tall tree that blocked even the sun from where she was standing. Melisandre clenched her jaw. Yes, that would be more difficult.

She cleared her throat after a second, giving Legolas a pleasant smile. “No objection whatsoever.” He grinned, watching as she shot an arrow of her own, so that they were even to start. “Fire at will until the barrell is empty? And only those that stick into the bark count.”

“Begin.”

He often tried to distract her, by saying something blunt or crude in order to get her to look at him in astonishment, before she laughed and released her arrow, returning something to him to get him to miss. Neither of them succeeded, instead just making sure that they laughed at one another and made each other more frustrated with one another.

Once the barrels were empty, Melisandre was left with an aching shoulder and a glance towards Legolas in victory. “None of mine fell.”

“We shall see,” Legolas returned simply.

Counting was difficult, as they could not pull the arrows from the tree for fear of the possibility of the other cheating, so they counted from top to bottom, quietly and to themselves. And when they finished, Legolas glanced at her, raising an eyebrow expectantly, as if allowing her to go first. “One hundred and sixteen,” she stated proudly. “Four fallen.”

Legolas gave her a small smile, and she felt her eyes widen as she was sure he was to announce his victory, but instead, he said, “One hundred and fifteen.” Nodding his head in defeat, Melisandre released a laugh. “Well played, Lady Melisandre.”

“How many times must I tell you? I’m not a Lady. A Lady doesn’t wear pants or kill Orcs for the sake of having a bit of fun.” Giving him a conspiratory wink, she continued. “Nor does she cry crude things at an elven prince to distract him from hitting his target.”

“Nor slay dragons, I suspect.”

“Twice,” Melisandre agreed.

He stroked the bow in his hand before setting it aside, his feet kicking away a few of their mingled fallen arrows, and he met her eyes hesitantly, as if nervous. “I would like to give you something.”

“You needn’t give me anything, Legolas. It was just a silly game.”

“No, I feel I must.” So Melisandre watched as he reached into his tunic pocket, pulling out a silver ring. She stared at it, confused, and he presented it to her. “I would be honored if you accepted this.”

“Thank you,” Melisandre said quietly, and she inspected it, her fingers angling it just right to reveal an elvish knot along the rim. She glanced up at him, to see that he was watching her intently.

In her culture, a ring given to her was a promise that meant much more than just a token for the winner. But in his, it did not seem to mean the same thing. At least, with the way he was staring at her like she was more than welcome to have a silver ring. Legolas… well, she was certain Legolas wasn’t interested in her in that way, otherwise the near ten years they had spent at one another’s side in the wilderness would have been a perfect opportunity for him to say something.

She slid it onto her finger. “I shall wear it always and think of the unconventional elven prince that gave it to me.”

He lit up with the declaration. “And I shall carry my wounded pride that a wild woman from the north stole my title for best archer in my own training gardens.”

Melisandre laughed quietly. “Wounded pride indeed, as it was you who decided to rub it in my face that you were the better hunter while I was injured, only to be bested by me once I was fully healed. I did not hear the end of it for at least a hundred miles.”

“I take my skills very seriously,” Legolas said quietly, but with a small smile. And Melisandre glanced down at the ring in her hand.

“Of course, my Prince, as you should.” But even she did not fail to notice the carven leaves that adorned it, and it tugged at her mind, begging her to ask what this ring exactly was, or where it came from, but she found the words die in her throat. She was a shield maiden, and he was a Prince here, even if he thought he was not in the wild.

Dinner was a small meal of greens brought to her room, as the King seemed to be caught up in something that the maids could not tell her about - only that he was angry.

And once she finished eating, she was given a bath to wash her from the sweat and dirt from the archery range, the elves careful not to get her hair wet to ruin the braid.

“It is a very beautiful one, Miss Melisandre,” one elf, a female by the name of Glorina, insisted. “Done by someone who has given you much of their time. I had seen how the Prince interacted with you. I can only assume that he is the one that gave you the ring you wear as well.”

Melisandre glanced up to the elven woman, confused. And she felt her heart beat a tad faster than she was sure was normal. She could hear it. She wondered if Glorina could as well. “I’m sorry?”

“The elvish ring,” Glorina said carefully, pausing as she stopped scrubbing at Melisandre’s shoulder, reaching for Melisandre’s hand and showing her the ring, as if she did not remember she wore it. “It is a courtship gift, bearing the sigil of the Prince.” The color drained from Melisandre’s face. “I must say, Miss Melisandre, we are most excited with the news. Of course, we will not say anything to the King. That is you and the prince’s confidence-”

She glanced down to the ring quickly, and Glorina seemed to realize that Melisandre did not look well. “I…” She swallowed. “What? This-”

Glorina faltered. “You did not know?”

“I didn’t think it anything other than a … a prize after a game we played.” She stared at the ring in astonishment. And then she glanced up at the maiden, setting her jaw. “Where is Prince Legolas’s chambers? I need to speak to him right way-”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” she rushed out. “I did not mean to startle or offend you-”

“No offense or anything taken, I assure you. I just…” She released a breath, and though her heart was beating wildly, the breath was steady. “I need to speak with him.”

“The second door after the right turn.”

Melisandre nodded, giving her a quiet plea. “Wait here.”  Grabbing the nightgown she was to change into, though she was wet, and the fabric turned into dew against her skin, she quickly grabbed a robe given to her, and pulled it on over, not caring that she was barefoot, or that she still had soap on her skin, or that her cheeks were flushed from the steam of the bath. She instead rushed out of the hall, as fast as her feet would take her, following Glorina’s instructions until she reached a door that neither looked familiar nor un-so.

Her knuckles felt bruised as she knocked, though she knocked lightly. Chewing on her lip, she waited, half expecting an answer. And the longer she waited, the more the half diminished into a quarter. And she wasn’t sure how long she was out there, but it felt like an eternity when the door suddenly opened and a disheveled looking Legolas appeared, his hair wet and his tunic not closed properly, revealing the pale skin of his collarbone.

“Dovahkiin?” Legolas asked in surprise. He glanced into the hallway, as if she had more people with her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Just the nickname alone made her hesitate. “I… May I come in?”

“Of course,” Legolas said immediately, and he stepped aside, allowing Melisandre to enter the room. “Geren, out.” The male near the tub by the window gave a bow of his head, before hurrying out of the room. She could see the steam in the bathtub.

“I did not mean to interrupt anything,” Melisandre admitted quietly, taking in the room. It was earthly, just as the rest of this place was. A fire burned brightly near the bed, and the bed was covered in a leafy green fabric that looked as soft as the silk dresses in her trunk. She took a few more steps towards the fire before she turned abruptly, glancing to Legolas. And she had not noticed her breathing was faster until he frowned.

“It was nothing. What’s wrong?” She didn’t know how to formulate the words, but she just held out her hand. He approached her after letting the door shut. And his hands took her own, clasping it tightly. “I’m afraid I do not understand.”

She turned their hands until the ring glinted in the firelight. “What is this, Legolas? What is it really?”

“A ring.”

“No, what is it?” He swallowed, and she knew that Glorina had not been making up romantic fairy stories. “It’s not just a ring. It’s a courtship ring. It’s a sign of courting. Legolas, I-”

“I had meant to tell you, but I could not find the words.” Melisandre kept his gaze, and he did not falter. If there was a thing she admired above all else, it was the confidence elves held themselves with. For living for thousands of years, elves were sure of everything. And yet his words betrayed his confidence. “We have traveled great distances together, fought many times together.” She felt a tightness in her throat, of emotion that could not come out. “A decade of time that I will hold higher than any time I have spent before.”

“Legolas-”

“I have grown to care for you a great deal, Melisandre. And I would like to court you.”

“Legolas, please-”

“If you wish the same.”

And it seemed he was done. She tightened her grip on his hand, and added her other. “Legolas, you are my dearest friend, sometimes I fear my only friend, but that’s my fault. Death and destruction follow and everything.” He seemed confused. “I wish you had explained what this meant when you gave it to me. No one has believed in me these last few years as much as you. No one has encouraged me to continue, even when I felt like giving up, like you have. And though I had family long ago, they did not give as much of a beacon to follow as you have. And I am forever grateful to you, and everyone here, for that.” Melisandre dropped her gaze to their hands. “I would accept the courtship. I would, but your father said it. You are sailing away soon. Maybe not now, maybe not for another century. But you are sailing and I will remain behind. That is how it will be. And I will not separate you from your people.”

“Nor will I leave you alone here.”

Melisandre was silent a second, as if gathering herself. “This is what you want? A girl that has no explanation for what she is, destined to kill dragons and slay orcs until the end of time?”

“Only if you will have an elf prince in return.”

She smiled softly. “It is a burden I will be forced to carry.”

He gave a sigh in relief, his tight grip on her hand pulling her closer so that they were pressed between them, right under their chins. “Then I will accept all the orcs and dragons you have to bear.”

She laughed quietly, and it was more of a hiccup as tears burned her eyes. And he released her hands, and she cupped his face gently. “How is it that you can make me laugh when I have not felt joy in years? When the only time I could laugh as a child was when I heard stories of battles and death? And the only time I laugh now is when you are around?”

“I would assume that I just have that amazing affect on you.” There was a smirk to it. She laughed lightly and her lips were gentle as they touched his. Far gentler than she felt she had been ages before. When battle and life had called for it. But now… now she could be as gentle as she wanted. And he was equally as gentle as he kissed back, his own hands gripping her waist. And as their kiss deepened, his grip became tighter the closer he pulled her.

Yet she needed air. Her lips parted from his and her eyes opened to find him looking at her with an expression of softness, of love and adoration.

“Now what was that for?”

“That’s what you do when you court,” Melisandre giggled quietly.

“Perhaps I truly should have explained sooner.” She rolled her eyes, and Legolas’s grip on her waist returned to being gentle, but it did not release her. She was close to him, so close that their chests were touching. And with every breath she took, she was closer to him. “Melisandre?”

“Why had you not said anything about this before? When we were near the Shire, or in the Wastelands-”

“Because I had not realized until we were near the Light of the Valar, and you were at peace there, staring at the tower and the water as though you had never seen it before. And the serenity on your face, the way with which you stared up at the stars… You are beautiful, and strong and fierce. And something that I’m afraid will disappear when I blink.”

“You shouldn’t worry about that. I’m the one thing guaranteed to never leave this earth.” She kissed him lightly once more, before she stepped back, a faint flush at her cheeks. “I was in the middle of my bath when the handmaiden told me… I should probably return. I still feel like there’s Shire dirt under my nails.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever known you to not have dirt under your nails.” He turned her hand with one of his hands, showing him her nails. Relatively clean. “I wonder if I will miss it.”

“I’ll finally be clean,” Melisandre giggled. “That in itself is a feat.”

He released her waist to glance down to what she was wearing. “I know I have said it before, but I must say it again. Elvish clothing suits you.”

“It’s foreign,” Melisandre admitted. “And has no weight. I feel naked.”

Legolas flushed lightly. “Well, you are not. I would have definitely noticed that.”

She laughed quietly, and glanced to her hand, still held in his own. “I need sleep, Legolas… Surely you won’t deny me of that.”

“No, I will not.” He cleared his throat, releasing her and he stepped out of her way. “Goodnight, Dovahkiin.”

She smiled warmly, but gave a small nod. “Goodnight, Prince Legolas.”

“Your prince,” he corrected.

“My Prince,” Melisandre returned. “I will see you in the morning.”

He kissed her fingers one last time, before he returned the words, and then she was walking back down the hall, towards her own chambers. Glorina was waiting there, nervously, and Melisandre could see that she looked relieved to see Melisandre again, and happy.

“I did not mean any harm-”

“It’s fine,” Melisandre answered. She glanced down at her right hand, where the ring rested, shining in the moonlight spilling in. “It’s all cleared up now.”

“You and the Prince are courting, yes?”

“Yes,” Melisandre said quietly. “That would be correct.” She glanced up at Glorina, giving the woman a smile. “Traveling with someone for ten years, nearly dying beside one another in battle… it brings you close. I did not know he had any interest in me at all.”

“The prince is a fine man,” she spoke quietly, and shed Melisandre of her now damp robe, putting it by the fire to dry, before helping her out of the nightgown. “But you are still filthy, and you can make no announcements to the king about intending to marry his son looking like that.”

“We’re just courting, not marrying,” Melisandre said with a small laugh, but she slid into the bath, sighing at the warmth. “But I suppose.” Glorina grabbed the scrub brush once more. “Be sure to leave a little dirt under my nails, please. I always carry a little bit of home with me where I go.”

Glorina just sighed, as if defeated, but agreed. And still Melisandre could not keep the faint smile from touching her face.


	15. Fire on the Tongue

Melisandre was roused from sleep with the sound of her doors being burst open. She did not think to lock them as the kingdom was as well protected as anything in Middle Earth ever could be. So she gasped as she sat upright, and saw Legolas looking worried.

Immediately she was on alert, climbing out of the bed, and grabbing her robe, before she slid it on and grabbed her daggers. Before he had even spoken.

“My father needs to speak with us.”

Melisandre paused slightly, at his tone. It was reserved, as if hiding anger. “What’s wrong? Is it the spiders? He seemed to get over that-”

“My father discovered of our courting before I could break the news to him.” Melisandre frowned, not quite understanding. “He wishes to speak with us.” She still didn’t understand how that was exactly a bad thing. “He does not approve.”

She blinked. “What do you mean, he doesn’t approve?”

Legolas was silent a second and Melisandre set down the daggers, stepping towards Legolas. “He forbids it.”

“But it's… it’s just courting. It’s not even like we’re marrying,” Melisandre insisted. But when Legolas hesitated, Glorina’s words came back. Melisandre sighed. “What exactly are you not telling me? I thought we were past the secrets involving this ring.”

“Elves rarely court without intentions to marry. And though we are not betrothed, the idea is very … closely related.” Melisandre knew that. It was similar in the world of men as well. “My father does not accept our union, be it simple courting or a betrothal.”

“But… that’s fine, because… we just started courting yesterday-”

“He does not think that it merely began yesterday. He believe that we began courting while away from the kingdom, and that this ring is-” He stopped himself, instead trying a different path “He has attempted to have you banished from the kingdom.” She blinked. That was definitely not just forbidding a union, that was outright refusing to accept it. “I have since talked him out of that, reminding him that we owe you a great deal and banishing you would be invoking ill will from the Valar.” She approached Legolas but thought better of it, sitting at the edge of her bed, closest to him, as he continued. “Empty words, that mean nothing to what I truly meant, but it calmed him down enough to at least speak reason.” She understood that. “I do not want you to leave Mirkwood unless you yourself wish it.”

“Then he wishes to speak to us, because he thinks… that us marry is unacceptable? But we aren’t-”

“Yes.” She nodded once, and Legolas hesitated. Melisandre waited patiently, knowing he wasn’t saying everything. He sighed as he sat beside her on the bed, and took her hands, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. “In Elvish culture, an exchanging of rings is a sign of betrothal.”

“But we did not exchange rings. Only I have one-” Legolas gave a nod.

“And I showed my father my own hands, which in part helped him calm down. But… I just want you to be aware of that when we see my father. Sometimes he is spiteful, and though he does not mean any ill wishes against you, he may say otherwise. He is easily angered, especially after mother passed.”

“I understand,” Melisandre said quietly. “Then it is best we do not keep him waiting. And then I would like an explanation on everything about this ring that I do not quite know. And why even Glorina seemed to think it meant marrying.”

“Because technically it does, but I’ll explain it later. That was not my intention, to become betrothed to you yesterday. It is courting, as that is what it means to the both of us mutually.” She knew that. “I will not have my father turn you away.”

She followed Legolas to the throne room, tying her robe tightly around her and the slippers making it difficult to walk up the long stairs, but she managed. The King was lounging on his throne much like she had always seen him. And when he heard them approach, he made no move to even look at them, merely staring up at the canopy of trees in the distance. Melisandre felt nervousness well up in here.

Though they had only been courting for less than a day, if the early morning light meant anything, yet she still could not deny that these feelings began long ago on her part, at least. Perhaps even the day he took her up to see the stars during the Feast of Starlight, back when she was in the quest, still unsure what to call herself.

Legolas stood firm beside her, even as she bowed quietly to the King, making no move to bow himself. She wondered if he was supposed to. She couldn’t quite remember him ever bowing to Thranduil.

“As I have told Legolas, I stumbled upon the pair of you in the archery range, on the west side of the palace,” Thranduil began, almost lazily. “What caused me to investigate was the obscenities in which I heard being uttered from both of your mouths. And while that did not bother me, I was curious as to what put you two into that position in the first place. How long have you two been courting?”

“I have told you father-” Legolas began.

“I am not speaking to you. I am speaking to Melisandre. I have heard your side,” Thranduil spoke sharply, and Melisandre had only heard that tone once before. When he was speaking to Thorin Oakenshield. “How long?”

“Yesterday, afternoon technically, in the archery range. But I was not aware of such a courtship until that evening when I was hinted at that the ring meant much more than just a simple token for winning friendly competition.” The King clenched his jaw. “I swear that to you. Neither of us are lying about that.”

Thranduil snorted. “You do not know what he told me.”

“I merely assume he spoke the truth,” Melisandre admitted.

“You are not high born. You do not even allow the servants or any of the elves for that matter, to call you Lady Melisandre. You never have. So why should I allow my son to marry a simple Miss from the Wastelands?”

“I don’t know,” Melisandre admitted honestly. “I just know that I’m not high born. I’m the Dragonborn, my father was a simple farmer, and my mother was no one. She never had the chance to be anyone. I just know that I care for your son, and I care for his feelings in this matter just as much as I care for my own. Perhaps you do not approve, but we are not marrying - we just began courting yesterday for goodness sake! I know you think we’re betrothed, but believe me, I’m more worried about what kind of freakish entity I am than getting married. Once that’s resolved, which it probably won’t ever be, sure, I’d entertain the idea. But you can bet that I’m not thinking of marriage.”

Thranduil gave a snort, rising from his throne. “You think I am young and naive. I have seen you two interact. I have seen just how much you can care for one another. As Thranduil reached for her, she flinched slightly, but he merely grabbed the fire red hair that hung over her shoulder, still braided. “The evidence is compelling. Perhaps you do not wish to marry him now, but you will. A low born wanting to marry a prince. I’ve seen it far too much. He has an infatuation for those born beneath him. First it was Tauriel, and now it is you. Do you not think you will be replaced?”

Melisandre clenched her jaw to keep from saying something she would regret.

Legolas, however, had no such reservations. “Father, you’re being ridiculous-”

“I will have your silence, or I will speak to her alone.” Thandruil only glanced to his son after he spoke the words, sending a chill down Melisandre’s spine. “Even if I allow you to court, it would be crueler to do so than to break it off now. Your status will not change. And no matter how well you speak, or how well you fight, you will not be an elf. You will not be allowed to go to Valinor when he sails west.”

“I know, and I have stated, that even if he sails, I will stay. There is far more for me in protecting people from this darkness you spoke of, than to let the world crumble under it. Even if I am the last person fighting, I will fight.”

“And I will choose to stay by her side to fight as well,” Legolas spoke.

“I will not lose my son to you, too!” Thranduil shouted. He was so close to her, that she could see the moment the cheek began to turn back into the scars of his burns. His words hurt more than Melisandre cared to admit. She clenched her jaw and dropped her gaze, squeezing her eyes shut before she let out a shaking breath. Take Legolas from him, as if simply courting him would kill him. Just simple traveling had done a lot worse to Thorin and his nephews - all the people at Laketown, all of the people she came in contact with, including Legolas’s own mother.

“Ada-” Legolas began.

“No,” Melisandre said quietly. “He is right. Perhaps we have been lucky, in our adventures, Legolas, but he is right.” The words felt like fire on her tongue, and though she did not know what it felt like, she knew only that it hurt incredibly. And her heart was dissolving into ash. “I only bring death where I go. I will only bring death to you.”

“Do not listen to him. He is trying to guilt you,” Legolas said firmly. “I will not break up this courtship simply because you fear to lose me. Breaking up this courtship will ensure that I do not return to this forest. We will live in the Wastes, if we must. Or with the Dunedain. Or amongst men. I care not. But I would never step foot back into this forest-”

“Legolas!” It was not just Melisandre who had spoken in shock, but also Thranduil who seemed to have gained control of his facial deformation.

“She is who I choose. She is the one I hope one day to marry. And she is the one that I will pledge my life to.” Melisandre was blinking quickly to get rid of the tears as she glanced to Legolas in surprise, and met his eyes as he glanced to her. “She has said it herself to me. This is only courting. Perhaps in our world it means different, but I am going by the rules of her world. We are not betrothed, we are not intending to marry anytime soon. Simply getting to know one another.” Legolas didn’t back down, even when Thranduil turned his glare to his own son. “She did not take anyone from us. She did not take mother, she did not take grandfather. Your father decided to go after that dragon, not Melisandre. She did not command the elves to go after that dragon. She did not breathe fire onto anyone. She saved the rest of our people that day. She saved you. She will not take me from you, not unless you try to take me from her.”

“Honorable,” Thranduil sneered. “But I still do not give my blessing. She is a mere mortal. Unless you’ve forgotten? When her power fades? When she dies? Either by blade or by time? She knows just as much about her powers and her immortality as a horse knows how to count it’s carrots. You know that you are to sail to the Undying Lands by this age’s end. The time of the elves is nearly over.”

“Ada, please. I refuse to listen to this madness!” Legolas insisted. “Has she not proven herself? Has she not fought nobly? Had you not had her in a sickbed, tending to her wounds yourself? You have treated her as if she was one of your own. Why can’t that be true? What does birth status mean anymore? When countless others have married someone that was not their own status or higher.”

Thranduil clenched his jaw. “I have had enough of this, Legolas. Childish games and foolish hopes. I will not allow you to court her.”

“Then I will back my things. Melisandre, please, come with me.” But as Legolas turned, she saw the pained expression on Thranduil’s face. He did not want his son to leave him, no matter if it was in life or in death. No proper father would. “Melisandre?” Legolas asked when he did not hear her follow.

Melisandre closed her eyes, the decision heavy, but she quickly followed Legolas. It was purely for selfish reasons. She did not want to walk this world alone. She had done it before, and she knew if she did it again, she would be driven mad.

Legolas was angry, but spoke no words as he reached his chambers, Melisandre watching him as he found the bag he had on his journey with her up north. And he began to pack various things in his room that meant something to him. “Legolas,” Melisandre pleaded quietly, wincing as he shoved something that looked very fragile into the bag. Made of glass. When he paused, she continued. “Do not throw away your father.” She carefully approached him, taking his arm in her small hand and guiding him away from the sack, towards the center of the room, so he could not pull away to distract himself again.

“Do not give up your family,” she said quietly. “You are all he has left of it. And I do not want that destroyed on my account. The world is full of time, now. And… if he does not approve now, why could he not change his mind a century from now? Perhaps my status does not change, but I know that minds do. What is time to me, now? What is waiting? I have plenty of it.”

“And if the darkness comes? If it kills us all?”

“I will not die,” Melisandre reminded him.

“But I will.” Melisandre swallowed. Right. He did not have the power to resurrect life. She lowered her gaze to his hands, which she was holding with each of her own. “And if that is the case, then I want the last of my days on Middle Earth to be with you, in all the ways I can. Not pining after you.”

Neither seemed to realize that the door was wide open, due to Legolas’s earlier anger, so that anyone that walked by could clearly hear them. If they happened to look, they would be able to see Thranduil standing there, his hand poised as if ready to knock on the frame, but he seemed to think better of it.

“Legolas, please, reconsider just leaving like this. As much as I wish to run off into the sunset together, your father’s blessing means a great deal to you. You know that. And you would be extremely upset for years to come if you leave today. And your father would be just as upset as well. Do not break up your relationship because of me.”

Thranduil hesitated outside of the door, his jaw clenched, unsure on whether he should make his presence known or leave.

Melisandre continued, her grip going to Legolas’s forearms. “Besides, you heard it. You are going to sail to the Undying Lands. And that means that we will be parted no matter what. I may not know much of your people, but I do know that men cannot go there.”

“They will make an exception for you. I know it-”

“Legolas, I do not think you’re hearing yourself. I could not bear to part you from your people. They are your family, your loved ones. Your friends. Maybe it is best if I leave alone, and then you and your father can mend your relationship, and I will go to Lady Galadriel, ask her what she knows of the Dovahkiin legends. Lord Elrond hinted that she may know more than I do, she may help me solve why I am a freak of men-”

“You are not a freak,” Legolas cut in sharply, and Thranduil jumped in the hall, surprised by the intensity of his son’s voice. “You aren’t. I see a strong woman that has seen a great deal of trouble in her time. And one that I will not give up on without a fight. You mean far too much to me, meleth nin.”

“And you mean everything,” she said quietly. “But I hate to see you fighting with your father.”

“I will not cease until he relents. There is no reason we cannot continue courting.”

“Can you tell me?” she asked softly. Legolas quirked an eyebrow, confused. “About Elvish courting habits. I don’t know anything other than the rings.”

“In Elvish standards, that is a betrothal,” Legolas admitted. “But to you, I know it is more of a promise. That is how the Northfolk court, is it not?”

“Yes,” Melisandre admitted. “But… I did not know you even knew of that. That was why when you gave it to me, I … I thought it was just a token of the game we had played.” She swallowed. “So when your father stumbled upon us, and saw the ring on my finger… he assumed we were intending to marry.”

“Yes,” Legolas admitted. “Betrothal lasts at least a year, at which time, the parents of both are present for the giving back of the rings, and receiving new ones, marriage rings. Words are said, as well as invocations of the ancients… and we are married.” She frowned, wondering if that was all. Afterall, that didn’t sound too complicated. “Most elves marry close to the age of maturity. It’s … strange for an elf to not marry then.”

“How old are you?”

He chuckled. “Nearly two thousand. I was born in 1088, of the Third Age.” She felt her eyes widen in surprise. “I do not intend to marry you unless that is what you want,” Legolas finished quietly. “I do not want to rush things, nor do I wish to scare you away.”

She glanced down to their hands. “Legolas… we have only been courting for a day. Marriage does seem ridiculously soon.”

“I will not let my father tell me who I may spend my time with,” Legolas said quietly. “You do not wish for me to go, and I do not wish for you to leave, either. How about we both stay, and continue our courtship? There is nothing my father can do about it. I choose you, and if I do not get to court you, may my light leave me-”

“You should not joke about that,” Melisandre hissed, and she blinked rapidly as she pressed her hands to his chest, as if feeling for his heartbeat. “It is something that could quite literally kill you.”

“Yet something I mean.”

Thranduil sighed mutely from the hall, and closed his eyes in defeat. His son had made his choice, yet it was still one that he could not let happen – simply because it could not be. Legolas would sail west, and she would not be allowed to come. It was the way the Valar worked. Exceptions were rare and only granted to ring bearers. She was not a ring bearer, nor would she ever be.

“Legolas?” Melisandre asked quietly. Thranduil paused in his quiet steps away, hesitating. “Does your father… truly blame me for your mother’s death?” Thranduil winced.

“My father is unpredictable and he uses words to hurt others when he is confused or upset. He did not mean anything by it, I promise you that. He was just doing what he could to get you to stop putting up a fight. A competitor is easy to break when they do not fight back.”

“Oh… good. Because I have no intentions of taking you from him. In fact, I want you two to be close… I did not have a father in my life, and I wish that I had. And though I cannot give you your mother back, you had spent time with her, at least.”

“I would not trade what happened. My mother and grandfather still live in Valinor. But it is because of that day that the stars have brought me you. And you have found a place among us.” He swallowed and Melisandre watched as he tugged her closer, her palms still flat upon his chest. “I will not let us be parted. Even if we fight the coming Darkness together, even if we find a way to sail West together, once the Darkness is defeated, I do not want to part.”

“Your father won’t let me stay here. You heard him. It would be better to break it now-”

“I am the prince. I rarely use my royal authority, but I think asking you to stay would pretty much dissolve the debt that we owe you… if that is an agreeable way to do so?”

She doubted it would work. “If he agrees to me staying, in exchange for no favors, then I suppose. But that will not happen.”

“I don’t think you’ve heard yet, but I am extremely competitive.” Melisandre’s laughter rang in the room.

“Oh, I’ve heard. And it’s extremely annoying as well as endearing.”

Legolas chuckled, placing a light kiss on her forehead. “We will not part. I will make sure of that.”

But Melisandre knew that even if he pulled in all of the favors of the elves, it still wouldn’t be enough to replace the heartbreak she had seen on Thranduil’s face when he thought Legolas was leaving for good. The utter pain and torment.

From outside the room, Thranduil silently watched as the two embraced, finding comfort in one another, before he strode towards his own chambers, the imagine of a blonde she-elf coming to his mind and how he used to embrace her.


	16. Pledge of Loyalty

Melisandre paced nervously in front of the fire in the room she had been instructed to wait in. The room was chilly, which she found was unusual from the usually warm forest she had been living in for the last six months, and she could see the light grow stronger as the sun rose in the sky. It had barely been morning when the messenger had come.

Melisandre jumped as the door to the room swung open and the king stood there, staring at her. They had not spoken in six months. Rather, he had not spoken to her. And Legolas… Legolas had not stepped foot into the same room as his father in the same amount of time. She only provided a brief company at dinner for him, so the king did not eat alone, before she joined Legolas on the terrace to dine with him as well.

It was ridiculous, how childish they were behaving. And yet, when she received the message that the king wished to speak to her, she had nearly jumped out of her bed and ran to the room she was to wait in. But now she could not sit still.

The king shut the door behind him, moving towards a large backed chair, and sat at once, before staring at her as she still stood by the fire. “Are you going to sit?” She sat without a word. Thranduil stared at her a second longer before looking to the fire. “You are wearing your armor. Expecting a battle?”

“I have been placed on the west gate, to guard,” Melisandre admitted carefully. “So I am dressed for it after I am dismissed from this meeting.”

“What time are you to report there?”

“Whenever this meeting ends.” He merely nodded.

“And what news do you have of my son?”

Melisandre felt her mouth go dry. What was this? Espionage? “I’m sorry?”

“Your courtship. Is it faring well?”

“Besides the fact that he is acting like a child, and you are doing no better, it’s doing fine.” His lips quirked in amusement.

“And have you two given any thought to marriage?”

“It has been brought up once or twice in the past few weeks,” Melisandre admitted truthfully. “But no serious intentions have been brought up, no.”

Thranduil pursed his lips. “How… marvelous.” She swallowed, waiting. “You know how I feel on the matter.”

“You do not want him to stay in a world that is dying,” Melisandre said quietly. “I understand.”

“I think, personally, you are an excellent match for my son,” Thranduil spoke carefully. “And I would accept it readily. Even if I were to excuse your birth, and instead look to how you have proven yourself…” The thought seemed to be favorable to him, but quickly the look vanished, as did the hope that his mind changed. "However… even if it was something I could accept, and even if I knew my son’s heart would not get broken in the end, I’m afraid you cannot marry, as you have no Elvish parents.” Melisandre frowned, confused. “Our customs forbid such a union unless someone represents you. I, obviously, cannot represent you, as I represent Legolas. And you have no complete couple that could that you are close with.”

Melisandre hadn’t known. “Even if my parents were Elven, they are long since dead. And Legolas does not have both parents-”

“The bride is the only one requiring both.” Oh. “Sometimes I forget how little you know of our world.”

Melisandre winced. “I am trying to learn,” she said quietly. “But there is so much. Legolas tells me new things constantly, but I cannot retain it well when more follows.”

“You cannot marry my son,” Thranduil repeated quietly. “I owe a great deal to you, but I will not let my son be apart of that debt. Staying here was the most I could do while also being the most harmful in the long run. I will not watch as he withers away on this land and dies. You will not ask me to.”

“I do not want Legolas to die, nor do I think of him as a form of payment,” Melisandre said quietly. “I don’t. And I don’t want him to be separated from his people.”

“Then you will break off the courtship, before you give him too much hope.”

“King Thranduil, I…” Melisandre dropped her gaze, and Thranduil sat up straighter in his seat, a pool of dread forming in his stomach. “I care for your son deeply, I do, but I fear if I tell him this, it will only make things worse between you two – he will know that you are the one to ask it of me.”

“Then see to it that it seems sincere-”

“But he knows that it is not.”

Thranduil closed his eyes. “Then you will have to leave.” Melisandre swallowed. “I will not lose my son as I lost my wife. Perhaps not in a rain of dragon fire and it’s wrath, but in the form of him slowly growing weaker the farther away he is from his people.”

“I will ride for Rivendell in the morning,” Melisandre said quietly. “Long enough for me to say goodbye, at least. Lord Elrond said that I was always welcome to stay there, should I need someplace. Perhaps he has not taken back his word-”

Thranduil’s eyes opened in surprise. “What?”

“You said that I will have to leave. And to keep him from dying… I will go. I do not want him to suffer…” Melisandre gripped her hands tightly, to keep them from shaking. “I will go. But only if you can promise me that he will be happy in the Undying Lands.”

Thranduil did not expect her to agree so easily. “You would go to give him a life that will flourish?”

“I would do anything to make sure he is happy,” Melisandre said quietly. “With this Darkness coming, whatever it is, he will die here. We both know it. I won’t. It is best I leave. He knows that, at least, would be sincere. Telling him I do not wish to court him is not. I will ride for Rivendell, but you can’t tell him I went there. He will just follow. I’m just worried that he will make his threats come true and leave the forest anyway.”

Thranduil gave a nod. “Good. Then you will fetch my son and bring him here. Someone is arriving that you have been keen to meet, and my son should be along as well. The sooner we put this matter to rest, the better.”

Melisandre was confused again. “I… I don’t understand. Why am I telling Legolas I am leaving now?”

“You are not leaving,” Thranduil said simply. “You have proven that you have my son’s best intentions at heart. But you will need to leave this room in order to bring Legolas here so that he may meet our guest as well. It is a matter of importance, and one that will hopefully end this feud as you so desperately wish. If we can put this matter to rest, we can figure out a way to move forward.”

She stared at him a moment. “You aren’t banishing me from the kingdom? But-”

“I summoned Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn here. You mentioned in the past that Lord Elrond hinted that she may have some answers as to what you are. Lady Galadriel is gifted with seeing into one’s mind, to discover a person’s true nature.” Melisandre was astonished. Why on earth would he do that? “She is the one that can grant you passage to the Undying Lands, if you and Legolas were to circumnavigate tradition.” Melisandre blinked. “Her sister is married to the King of Valinor, and she herself is the great-great granddaughter of the king’s niece.”

“But men do not go to Valinor.”

“Unless given special passage,” Thranduil spoke simply. “That is how it has always been. No one has been deemed worthy enough of passage. But you are a product of legend, and you are powerful… you will be worthy.” She sat dumbfounded in her chair. And then she slid off of it, onto the floor before Thranduil, her knees sinking into the furs that decorated it. This room seemed the least natural out of all the rooms she had been to in the palace. “What are you doing?”

“I know I have not yet done this, but I pledge my loyalty and allegiance to you, King Thranduil. In times of war or peace, I will fight beside your men as one of your own. And though I have protected you and your son in the past, I vow to do so with more vigor than before.” He held out a hand, as if to stop her from this madness, but she took it carefully, as if expecting him to draw away. “I thank you for at least agreeing to a chance to see if I can be with your son.”

“Get off the floor. You shouldn’t be on the floor-” Thranduil began.

But his words died as she kissed the ring on his hand, the kingly ring that had once been his fathers. A sigil of the Greenwood Forest of old. Before the spiders spread. The Darkness came. He exhaled, and his fingers touched her cheek, bringing her gaze slowly up to his. “I accept your pledge, but I hope that they are not necessary.” She sighed in relief and closed her eyes. But his grip did not remove itself from her cheek. “You are a fine warrior, Melisandre. And I have no doubt that you would die for us many times over. Though I do not know why you have placed such a high value in our lives.”

“I feel like I’m home when I’m with the elves. And I know that is a ridiculous feeling, but… it’s true. I feel like I belong here. I do not feel like I am wandering, misguided. I do not feel like I am spending my curse of eternity alone. I sometimes do not feel like it is a curse.”

Thranduil clenched his jaw to keep the effect her words had on his emotions from showing. A girl that had no place in the world, no kin and no explanation, just wanted to feel like she belonged. “You have always been welcome here. And though I have not treated you with the respect you deserve, nor as Legolas wishes me to, I do not think I could allow you to leave, as I, too, have grown fond of you. You are the wife I wish my son could have. If I must find an elven couple to adopt you, then I will do so, after Lady Galadriel’s evaluation.”

She felt tears shine in her eyes as he removed his hand from her, and relief coursed through her. “What I said was out of spite, and anger, and frustration. I am not used to my son fighting me on such issues.”

“He is your son,” Melisandre said quietly. “And he adores you. He was just hurt.”

Thranduil merely nodded and there was silence for a moment before he spoke. “Well, are you going to get Legolas or are you going to sit here like a fish?”

She was immediately to her feet and rushing out the doors, with a quick “Of course,” in her wake. She found Legolas in the shooting range, and she grabbed his arms before he could fire a shot. Legolas looked at her, surprised by her sudden appearance. “What’s wrong, meleth?”

“I think you’re father’s changing his mind about the courtship,” Melisandre rushed out. “I don’t know, he just went through this whole conversation about how he does not want me to take any happiness from you, and then he said to fetch you, so that we could talk with Lady Galadriel.”

“Lady Galadriel is here?” Legolas blinked. He immediately set down his bow. “Then we must return at once.”

“I think I still need to catch my breath,” Melisandre admitted. So they waited a moment for her to catch it, before they rushed back to the room with the fireplace and the King.

“Is it true?” Legolas asked.

“We’ll see when Lady Galadriel finishes her investigation. If she finds Melisandre worthy of Valinor, then… perhaps it will encourage her to sail with you instead of staying behind.”

Melisandre swallowed. He expected her to change her mind as well?

“Where is Lady Galadriel?”

“She will be here shortly.” Melisandre stood there hesitantly.

“Why did you summon her?” Legolas asked. And if the turn of events weren’t so hopeful, Melisandre would have pointed out that it was a horrible way to mend the gap they had been experiencing for the last six months. But before Thranduil could answer his son, the door opened and a brightly lit woman entered. It was not that she was glowing, per se, but more that she seemed to just emit a light. She was hope in elven form.

“King Thranduil, Prince Legolas, and Lady Melisandre.” Melisandre could not find it in her own words to correct the woman. Whatever she said, she said it with the most confidence she had ever seen in elves. As if there was no room for argument, and no one dared argue with her because of it anyway.

Lady Galadriel seemed to be the one all the elves looked to for guidance, even Thranduil or wise Lord Elrond. She was someone that had answers.


	17. The Brightest Star

Lady Galadriel seemed to command the room. But Thranduil merely gave a polite nod of his head, seeming much lighter in countenance than Melisandre had seen him ever knowing him. Perhaps the only time similar was the Feast of Starlight. And immediately Melisandre understood what he meant when he said that Legolas would wither without his people. Being around one another seemed to give them energy, a bright form of light that she could only think of came from the stars they were said to be formed from.

“Lady Galadriel. I’m honored you could come on such short notice.”

Melisandre gave a polite bow of her head towards the woman, and Legolas even smiled towards her as he nodded. “You are different.” It took Melisandre a few moments to discover than the elf-woman had not spoken aloud, but instead inside of Melisandre’s own mind. “A great deal of power lies within you, that you intend to use only for good.” Melisandre swallowed, unsure on if she should say something aloud, or try to communicate back into her head. “And you love with all of your heart, despite the grief you have seen. A young elf that has been by your side for many years, and you two have not grown apart.”

“Yes,” Melisandre thought hard in her head. Lady Galadriel’s lips lifted slightly in a smile as she stepped closer to Melisandre, her eyes staring at her as she continued to speak.

“A human never destined to die, and to always protect… That is what you’ve been told. A life amongst elves is much different than you may believe.” Melisandre lifted her gaze in surprise, but swallowed.

“I believe it to be peaceful, in times of peace, and full of war in times of war. Sacred in the nights, and busy in the days. With stars in the sky and the kingdom to defend.” The smile on Lady Galadriel’s lips seemed to grow.

“You have seen great battle.” Melisandre merely gave a nod. “But you were saved… not only by your power, but by others.” Lady Galadriel glanced towards Thranduil and a hint of the smile on her lips faded as she stared at him, speaking to him through their minds, but Melisandre could not hear anything anymore. Just silence as they stared at one another, before she finally seemed to finish whatever she was telling the king. She had never seen him bow to anyone, but the King inclined his head as if touched by something. Or agreeing to something.

“We will resume this conversation over a meal,” Thranduil spoke. “With Lord Celeborn. I trust to see you two within the hour. Lady Galadriel and I must speak.”

But what about…? She was about to voice it when Legolas took her hand, stopping her. “Of course, Ada.” He inclined his head to Galadriel. “Thank you for your time.”

“I always come for special instances such as this,” Lady Galadriel’s voice was just as smooth and soft as it was in the mind.

“I had not known you were coming, or I would have escorted you from the gates myself.”

“Nor did I,” Lady Galadriel spoke. “So, I was most surprised when I happened to be there. But it is best you leave King Thranduil and I to speak. There is much history we must cover.”

“Of course.” Legolas bowed again, and Melisandre was dragged behind him as he quickly left. She did not even get to say farewell. It was not until they reached the shooting range she had taken him from that he spoke. “What did she say to you?”

“Nothing, really. Just that I was different and had seen great battle. And that I loved you completely.”

“It’s always pleasant to hear confirmation,” Legolas quipped. Melisandre rolled her eyes. “What did my father say to you?”

“What he has always said,” Melisandre said quietly. “That you are to sail. He hopes that maybe Lady Galadriel will be able to discern what I am, and he summoned her to see if I am worthy of sailing with you.”

Legolas paused. “You would sail if you could?”

She shrugged lightly. “If I knew that there was no possibility of evil in Middle Earth, if I could trust that it could be well protected… I think I would. But only after the Darkness falls, and peace reigns.” He stared at her in astonishment. “You would? But everything you’ve ever known is here.”

“Just as it is for you,” Melisandre returned. “Maybe I’ll like it there. I don’t know. I guess I’ll never know until I do, won’t I?”

Legolas folded their hands close, and he stepped even closer. “I cannot sail to Valinor if my heart does not wish it.”

“Your mother’s there, and your grandfather. All of your kin are going to be there. What will happen to those that do not join?”

“They will stay here.” She frowned slightly. “I have chosen you, Melisandre. If you can’t sail, or you won’t, then I will stay here with you, and have a life of our own. My father has no intention of sailing anytime soon. If he does not go, why should I? If you do not go, why should I?” She swallowed as the emotion filled her. “It is a dangerous world, but one I will not have you walk alone.”

She tugged him close, kissing him with all she felt. Because it was the only way she could form her words. Their meal arrived without much time to prepare. She just knew that she was going to be missing her guard duties for that day, which the guards seemed already informed of, as no one came to fetch her.

Lady Galadriel and a blonde man sat near one another, and she found that he had much the same light as she did. Like pure light and energy. Thranduil was sitting in a seat beside the one Melisandre always sat in, and his seat was not next to the two high-born elves. Melisandre’s was right beside Galadriel, who was at the head. And Celeborn was beside Legolas’s, who was across from her.

If Legolas found the seating arrangement strange, he said nothing, merely directing Melisandre to her seat before he took his own. The table was served with greens almost immediately upon their sitting.

“So you two intend to marry,” Lord Celeborn spoke. His voice was just as smooth as Lady Galadriel’s, and he glanced between Melisandre and Legolas, as if thinking about them being married - as if wondering if it would work.

“We haven’t given a serious thought to marriage, but it is something we’ve discussed briefly in passing,” Legolas spoke formally. “But my father does not approve of the union, so we will not marry until that changes.”

“You need not fret, young ones,” Lady Galadriel spoke gently, and her hand came upon Melisandre’s arm, who had stopped from lifting up her glass of elven wine. “There is always an answer even when the question has long since seemed bleak.” Melisandre didn’t quite understand. “You will need elven parents, will you not, to marry?”

“Yes, but I haven’t any,” Melisandre admitted. “My mother died in childbirth and my father was killed by a dragon long ago-”

“Your mother was not human.” Melisandre blinked, processing Lady Galadriels’ words. “I have seen into your mind, seen the last moments of the woman that brought you to this world, and the first moments of your life.” Melisandre glanced towards Legolas and Thranduil, wondering if they would grasp more of this than her. But Legolas looked astonished, and Thranduil… well, he looked as if Lady Galadriel had told him this before. Lady Galadriel withdrew her hand, and slid a piece of parchment towards Melisandre from under her plate. “This is what I have drawn of the memories. You have never seen her before, have you?” No, Melisandre hadn’t. She had only lived long enough to whisper Melisandre’s name. Melisandre’s hands shook as she gently unrolled the paper, and the woman…

The woman was beautiful. Fierce red paints matched the exact shade of Melisandre’s hair. And the color of milk adorned her skin, far different from Melisandre’s own tan hue from years in the sun. Her eyes were a startlingly blue, with much knowledge of the world. But that was not what caught Melisandre’s eyes. “She was an elf.” The ears, indeed, were pointed.

“Her name was Galasriniel. She had initially died in the second age, her soul sent to Valinor where she was brought back to life to live amongst her people.”

“The Undying Lands,” Melisandre said quietly. She glanced up to Galadriel, confused. “But that would make me a half-elf… I’m not. I .. I’m human in every sense, except for never dying – and that’s magical. I will not die by blow or arrow or anything-”

“Coming from the Undying Lands, your mother carried with her a power far greater than the elves that had left it. She carried twice the power.” Melisandre didn’t understand. “She carried you.”

She blinked. “But… that doesn’t make any sense… She can’t have. Or I would be a full elf, then. I don’t look full elf.”

“Your father is your father, yes, but he is not the father you’ve always known.” A book came from Galadriel’s lap, and she opened it to a certain page before presenting it to Melisandre. “His name is Ingwe.”

Ingwe. The name didn’t ring a bell. “He is the King of our people in Valinor. And he is the one that is the eldest of us all.” Melisandre stared at the sketch of the man. He had fair hair, but definitely her green eyes. “Ingwe knew of your mother’s desire to walk Middle Earth again, and gifted her with you, and as she wandered the Northern Waste, she met the man that had been who you called father. But her gift came with a terrible curse. She would die after your birth, and she would return to Valinor. A year was all Ingwe could give her, or else the power would grow too great. You look as if you are the Race of Men, so that you would fit in with those you were left with. Galasriniel could not come back for you, no one from Valinor could. No one on Middle Earth knew you existed. Only what Lord Elrond had foreseen with his gift of foresight. It was written down in the First Age, long forgotten… but I would never forget that face.” Melisandre glanced to the woman, confused. “Galasriniel was my sister. The Queen of Valinor. You have elven parents, Melisandre, just no knowledge of it.”

“But I don’t understand. If my parents were elves… would I be an elf?”

“Oh, no doubt you truly are. You stopped aging once you reached maturity. It has nothing to do with your first death.” Melisandre frowned, glancing back to the book. “And when you die, it is your power that brings you back. The power of the ancients – the power of Valinor and King Ingwe. The power of reincarnation, only it’s instant. Sometimes, elvish souls wait millenia to be reincarnated by Ingwe. It just doesn’t happen within minutes or seconds. Every time you die, you come back. That’s no magic, that’s your star.”

“So you’re my… my Aunt?” Melisandre needed a breath. “I'm… Incredibly confused. I’m really an elf, magic made me look human, my mother is the Queen of the Undying Lands, my father is the King, not the man that had abandoned me to the wilderness in the North. And I don’t die because my power basically invokes the Valar to make me… reincarnate immediately into my same body.”

“Astounding summary, but yes.”

Melisandre took a deep breath. “I think I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down,” Thranduil intoned. “It is much to take in.”

“And as your mother would want, Celeborn and myself will act as your parents for the wedding ceremony.”

Melisandre glanced up in surprise, and even Legolas looked astonished. “What?”

“We will be your Guardians on Middle Earth, adopt you, so to speak.” Melisandre stared at the woman in astonishment. “Your mother was a very kind soul, and felt love more than anyone else I have never known. It is how I knew, once I accessed your mind, and once I saw her face and felt what you did for Legolas… It is how I knew that you were the one in the forgotten legends.”

“And the Dragonborn… How did that legend come to be?”

“You cannot burn, because you are born of pure stars,” Lord Celeborn said simply. “The rest of us are mere essence of stars, connected distantly. But you were conceived in the Undying Lands, and are made of the purest of stars. You will not burn, because nothing burns hotter than a star. You will not die, because even the oldest stars do not wink out in Middle Earth. Merely veiled. Your true origins have only been veiled these last few years. You heal at a faster rate than even elves, because of the star you are from. The brightest star.”

Melisandre blinked. “So… I went from being some freak human to Elven royalty? I don’t buy this, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“Not a mistake,” Thranduil spoke. “I had met Galasriniel when I was young. But the connection I would never have made without Lady Galadriel seeing her face in your mind.”

“I…” She glanced between Galasriniel and Ingwe’s potraits. She could see the similarities. “I can’t believe I'm… not who I always thought.”

“You have always wanted answers. Lord Elrond knew you were to ask Lady Galadriel, but your journeys never took you to the forest of Lorien.”

“It just… never seemed important,” Melisandre admitted. “Killing Smaug, finding Aragorn… Those seemed so much more important.” She glanced up suddenly. “I sleep. Elves do not, they go into a meditative state, but they do not sleep. But I do sleep.”

“Those with great power must rest once in awhile.”

It certainly explained why she could go a few days without it if needed. “But I don’t even know how to use my power. They say in the legends that I could harness my power to do great things-”

“And you have,” Galadriel said kindly, laughing quietly. “Or did you not fall from a burning tower to save an entire city? Did you not protect a king from burning when all else seemed lost? Or hunt Orcs you knew would do nothing but kill unprotected people? Rumors reach us in all corners of the forest. Did you not vow to stay on Middle Earth until the end of its days, protecting Men from creatures that threaten them?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Your power of never dying is allowing you to do great things.”

She blinked, unsure of what to say. “I…. I guess that means I’m high born, then.”

Thranduil snorted eloquently. “I suppose my words are coming back to bite me from months ago. Yes. You are. And that did change.”

Legolas shot his father a look.

“Your name is Mangîlelen.” Melisandre glanced up to Lord Celeborn. “Lady Galadriel discovered it in the first recounts of the legend from the first age. It is likely what your mother told the midwife before she passed, but Sindarin is very difficult for men to speak without years of training. It was probably misinterpreted.”

“Pure stars,” Legolas translated at Melisandre’s questioning gaze. “It combines two elvish words for stars, gîl and elen.” Oh. “Man is the Quenyan word for pure.” She really needed to have a constant translator, it seemed like.

“So everything has been a lie.”

“I suppose if you look at it that way. No doubt your mother expected you to be found by elves that knew the legends. But over time, the Dovahkiin and the Mangîlelen legends…. they grew separate. One was in the ancient Westron tongue, another was in elvish. No one would have made the connection if they did not know one another, had not seen into your mind. It is a good thing that King Thranduil contacted me.”

Yes, it really was. Melisandre glanced to Thranduil, giving him a small smile. “Thank you. For doing this.”

“Who knew it would yield such positive results,” Thranduil said dryly.

“Oh, you know how grumpy old men are,” Lady Galadriel said warmly.

“If he is a grumpy old man, that what does that make us?”

“Wise ancient elders,” Lady Galadriel said simply to her husband’s question. She turned back to Melisandre. “Though you may not wish to get married now, or ever, or to someone else, or to no one, there is an option now. We will perform the bride’s parents rites for you, as our ward.”

A place to belong. A place with family she had thought lost to the winds and time. Melisandre remembered something, pulling out her necklace from inside of her armor she wore. She had wanted to change but Legolas had insisted they would be late. “This necklace… The man who raised me, Rodair, he said my mother wore this. When he died, I took it but…” She pulled the necklace off, passing it to Galadriel. “Do you know what this is?”

Lady Galadriel picked it up gently, the dragonfire glass pendant, and turned to inspect it. “I haven’t seen anything like this.”

“Perhaps a beacon to find you once more, if you ever return to your homeland.”

Lady Galadriel passed it back to Melisandre, but spoke into her mind. “Just remember that you are the brightest star of our world, and even bright stars may be lost before they are treasured.”

Melisandre gave a small smile, but put it once more around her neck. “Thank you,” she said quietly, but she was speaking for much more than simply handing back the pendant. It was for everything.

She had a home. And a future here with the elf sitting across from her, if they ever decided to have it be so.


	18. No Shadows Today

Despite Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn’s adoption of Melisandre, she and Legolas decided to remain unmarried for another ten years. King Thranduil, who, after the declaration, had no further qualms - as not only was Melisandre an elf and capable of going to the Undying Lands, she was also high born. Making every argument he had invalid.

It was just a matter of whether she wished to stay on Middle Earth or not, which she and Legolas agreed did not need to be decided anytime soon.

They had time to enjoy their life now. Melisandre had time to make Mirkwood her home, as it had been offered to her by Thranduil. Though she had been apart of the Woodland Guard simply standing at the gates, her title became official as she was trained as an elf would have been, lasting her nearly three years of brutal day and night combat techniques.

She came back to her chambers when she was given time to rest battered, bruised, but stronger each day.

The only time she and legolas had left Mirkwood since arriving back, was to meet Aragorn in Rivendell, a place that she found had fond memories. Aragorn looked just a tad older, and she questioned if the beard meant the same as it did in dwarven culture, or if he was simply showing it off for an elven maiden.

The wedding was announced by the time Melisandre would have been fifty in human years. Nearly ten years of courting, and ten more years of being at one another’s side. It would do.

The ceremony was far more elegant and extravagent, with elven royalty from all forests coming to attend, as Melisandre was not just any bride. And she was certain that the reason an elderly Bard and his children, now grown and with families of their own, attended, was because of the history she had with them in the war. But they were a joyous sight none the less.

Yet still she did not know any Sindarin beyond what Legolas made her memorize for the wedding. Her vows, other’s vows, and simple things for the elves present that would be asked of her if they did not know Westron.

It was not until after the honeymoon, spending a year and a half in Lothlorien, seeing the magical forest that her mother had been trying to walk to from the north, that Melisandre saw just how excited Thranduil was with Melisandre being the princess.

If she thought he was reluctant for the wedding, in the beginning of the courtship, Thranduil was anything but now. He would personally take her on tours of the kingdom, explaining to her things that took elves hundreds of years to learn in passing. It was as though he wanted her to memorize every detail of the kingdom.

So when Legolas took her away, it was a relief. She did not care for how many wine cellars Oropher had built into the roots under ancient trees. She gave Thranduil a squeeze on the arm in apology, as well as a bright smile, and a promise to see them after Legolas was finished with whatever competition he had come up with next, before Melisandre was dragged away.

But it was no competition. He led her up a path of winding steps, towards the starlight dias and she was in awe at the stars shining brighter and closer than she had ever seen them before. “What do you think, Dovahkiin?”

“They are even brighter than when we first met,” Melisandre admitted, the ancient name for her like a fond memory every time he spoke of it. She glanced towards him, seeing a small basket tucked away by the carven bench stump. “Are we having a picnic?”

“My father spends more time with you than I.” Legolas said wryly. “I need to remind you who exactly you married.”

“You do remind me, frequently,” Melisandre smirked with a quick wink. Legolas gave a small smirk in return. “He’s just excited.” Melisandre watched as Legolas pulled a blanket from the basket, and then a small basket of berries. As he spread the blanket out, he sat carefully, and she soon joined him. A gentle breeze suddenly blew, causing leaves from the treetops to skitter across the dias. “You have truly outdone yourself, meleth.”

“Elvish.”

“You like it when I speak to you in Elvish. The little I know.”

“You have eternity to learn it,” Legolas said simply. But as he turned to her, offering the bowl of berries, he paused, a smile of amusement lighting up his face. “You’ve a leaf in your hair.” But as she raised a hand to get it out, Legolas grabbed her wrist. “Let me.” She lowered it slowly, and he untangled it from the braid he had put in that morning, before he leaned forward, seizing her lips in a heated kiss. The clank of the bowl as it settled onto the wooden dias, forgotten, was faint as Melisandre surrounded herself in a cocoon uniquely Legolas.

Their picnic could wait.

“I love you, meleth nin,” Legolas murmured against her lips, before kissing her even more solidly.

“And I love you.”

No matter how many times they kissed, there was no doubt that each filled her with love. She constantly felt more each time.

It only took two months following the trip to Lothlorien for them to conceive. Two months that seemed to fly by. Melisandre only noticed that she was with child when she felt nauseas in the middle of her guard duties. She would be standing there, her arrow and bow clutched tightly with different hands, when suddenly she would double over.

She was rushed to a healer, despite her telling everyone she was fine. But the guard that had been on duty with her, Feren, insisted that elves did not get sick. Melisandre never recalled a time in her life where she was sick.

And of course, when a royal is rushed to the healer bay, the other royals find out almost immediately. Melisandre sighed in defeat as not only her husband came through the doors, but also Thranduil.

“Is no one running the kingdom?” she asked pointedly. “I’m fine. I just got nauseas on duty. It’s nothing-”

“Nothing?” Legolas demanded. “You became physically ill. Did you eat something that displeased you-”

Melisandre sighed, staring at him, before flicking her eyes to Thranduil. He remained impassive, but obviously felt that he was needed here. For whatever reason. She did not know when she became a fondness of Thranduil’s, but it seemed to have stemmed from the moment Lady Galadriel said that she was not a mere human.

“Yes, I think it was a bit too much wine.” The healer glanced to her in surprise, but said nothing. “But I’m fine. Perfectly healthy and I can go back to guard duties now.”

“Perhaps you should take the day off?” Legolas’s concern was nearly palpable. But Melisandre insisted, getting out of the bed.

“I agree. Legolas will take your post, and I will walk her to her chambers.” Legolas didn’t seem concerned with that method of skirting her decision. Melisandre glared at them both. She was perfectly capable of - “That is not something to debate. I order that.” Legolas seemed to pass his father a silent message as they stared at one another, and then Legolas nodded before heading down the stairs, out of the room.

“That is not the case, as you have not had wine in three weeks.”

Melisandre gave a light shrug. “I changed my mind today.” Thranduil wasn’t convinced.

But she knew what elves did. They waited on having children until all Darkness passed. The Darkness was still coming. The forest was nearly black, sick and dying. And the Orcs were growing bolder. She thanked the healer before she began walking down the hall with Thranduil at her side.

“The spiders of the forest are scared of fire,” Melisandre spoke carefully. “If I could set fire to their fortress, it would kill them at the source. And the spiders that survive would diminish.”

Thranduil paused and stared at her, and Melisandre did her best to appear neutral about it. Slightly passionate. But not too eager.

“This is a sudden development.”

Melisandre hesitated. “I was just thinking about the elves we lose regularly on guard duty. There’s at least one a year because the spiders draw too close.I could do it.” Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “All I need to do is ride close enough to launch a few lit arrows into Dol Guldur. The webs will ignite, and the spiders will either burn or flee.”

“Into my kingdom. It was you who once said that matters outside of the north did not concern you.”

“The North is no longer my home,” Melisandre returned. “This forest is.” Thranduil pursed his lips. “It would take no longer than a few weeks. Time I’m sure you could distract Legolas with.”

“Perhaps you do not realize the way elven relationships work, but we do not keep things from one another, or lie.”

Melisandre winced. “I know that… but if we don’t balance the Darkness with light, won’t we just ensure the Darkness grows stronger?”

“What is it that ailed you?”

Melisandre stared at the King, hesitating. “Legolas would forbid me from even guarding. He’s insisting that I stop already since we are married. He does not wish me to get hurt, should someone come.”

“And yet he lets you win the argument because it is your will to continue guarding.” Melisandre knew that to be true. “How far along?”

Melisandre glanced up to him in surprise before looking off. “A month or two at the most. The healers say that we definitely conceived after returning from Lothlorien.”

“Then you are fit to fight for a while longer.” She nodded in agreement. “A child is to be cherished, not put in danger by storming on a nest of spiders.”

“A child is also supposed to be born in times of peace.”

Thranduil seemed to understand. “And you wish to take out the nest to create a semblance of peace for the child.” She nodded carefully. “Come, we will walk to the star dias.” She raised an eyebrow in question, but he was already moving. “There is something I must show you.” It was a long walk, from the healing quarters, but once they reached the dias, he took a deep breath of the air, as if it cleared his head.

“Look into the forest and tell me what you see.”

She looked towards where he pointed and saw tall, ancient trees that stretched for days on end. And the farther the trees were, the darker they became. The sicker they looked. And the ruins of Dol Guldur stood out in the distance. “They look sick.”

“The Greenwood of Old has long since turned into the Mirkwood. The spiders were only the start. Do you think that is all that dwells in this forest?” Melisandre shook her head. “No, there are Orcs and goblins, as well. Dol Guldur is a fortress for the dark. One that will not let anyone who enters leave it unless the Dark allow it. Only one has escaped unbidden, and that was Gandalf the Grey. And only three more have tried and nearly drained themselves of their power. Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, and Gandalf once more, in the eve of the Battle of the Five Armies. Do you think you are any stronger than them?”

“Not at all,” Melisandre admitted.

“Even if you could make it to Dol Guldur,” Thranduil said simply. “Even if you could burn the spiders out, how do you expect to return, when the fortress will not let you? Fire can not purify the dark. It will only scatter it to the cracks until the fire dies.”

Melisandre swallowed. “So, I am to stay here, and let the darkness grow stronger?”

“Yes. No one enters or leaves this kingdom unless I know of it,”Thranduil spoke simply. “I was warned of this darkness by an Orc. And it is this darkness that will be our end should we fight it.”

“Will no one fight it?”

“It is not the fight of elves, Melisandre. It is the fight of men. Of those who stay on this earth.”

“And I have told you, I will not sail until the Darkness is gone. Legolas will not either.”

He glanced away from Dol Guldur, turning so that the Lonely Mountain was on the horizon. “Have I told you about the end of battle?”

“No. I do not believe so.”

Thranduil was quiet for a moment. “Legolas had thought you dead. You, someone who he only thought a legend then, someone he had only known for mere weeks, yet was broken with the thought of you dead. He told me he could not come back to Mirkwood. That he would not return, when you had opened up a wide world beyond these forests.”

Melisandre’s eyes widened. “I thought you tasked him with finding Aragorn.”

“I did. I gave him a direction, a purpose, so that he would not lead himself to danger. A purpose in which I sent you to follow.”

“I cannot die, how was I meant to be dead?"

“He walked into the home you were stabbed in, and saw the blood. And no body. He likely thought that you had been taken by Orcs, finished off as you bled out. He knew that you were not aware of your immortality’s extent, just like we weren’t. Now we know nothing can kill you. Then… “

“He thought I would be lost for good.” Thranduil merely nodded heavily.

“Even then he chose to follow you than to stay in this kingdom. Even then he would have followed you where you asked him. Even as a child he wanted to see the world, but I would not let him. I could not let him escape into a forest that was becoming sick. I could not let him roam the valleys where Orcs ran free. His mother thought differently. She sought adventure, seeing unfamiliar things. Even then, Legolas was lost to me, Melisandre. And it is because of you entering his life that he was brought back. I knew… that if you two were to court, and you were to stay, he would stay. I had no doubt. I would not lose my son, too.” He sucked in a breath and turned to face her suddenly as she spoke, breaking the spell he seemed to be under.

“So when you found out I was an elf, that I was Ingwe and Galasriniel’s daughter, that was why you became so … involved. Hoping to sway my decision, to get me to sail and leave these matters to men.” Thranduil’s nod had a twinge of guilt in it. “I don’t think you understand. I want to sail west. I do, but not until I can rest easy knowing this world is safe.”

Thranduil swallowed, nodding. “But I do not think you understand. It is not just you and Legolas any longer. It is a world in which you would force your children to stay as well? A dying world that has no place for elves?” Melisandre swallowed. She had only just found out she was pregnant a mere hour ago. She hadn’t really given it much thought about anything other than the spiders needed to go to give her some added peace of mind. “Could you stay knowing your children would never see another elf save for those that remain behind? They would just know Middle Earth?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then you see why I have been trying to sway you. I do not want to never meet my grandchildren. I do not want my wife to never meet you or see their faces. I could not bear that. She would yearn to see them.” Melisandre nodded carefully, understanding now. “Perhaps you will not sail with the others, but you cannot stay on this world forever. Valinor is your rightful home. Maybe what I say will mean nothing, but you must start considering the life you want for your children, not just for yourself.”

“Which you’re doing for Legolas. Valinor is the life you want for him. You do not merely want him for yourself to see frequently, but for your wife and father… for me and Legolas and I’s own children… You are wanting us to sail because you do not want us to make a decision we will regret, just as you have done.” Thranduil merely inclined his head. And Melisandre glanced towards the fortress of Dol Guldur. “Then let me clear the forest.”

“Wood burns, Melisandre. Or did you forget your warning with this dragon?”

“But it is not just spiders, elves, goblins, and orcs that live here. You have a powerful wizard as well.” Thranduil rolled his eyes at the adjective. Powerful. “Radagast is a protector of the forest, forced to move north when the spiders took over. He would do anything to clear the spiders out. I can survive the first, he can protect the spiders from entering the kingdom.” She gave Thranduil a pleading gaze. “I promise to speak to Legolas on the date we will sail, if you agree to let me clear the forest.”

“You are still with child-”

“You said it yourself, I can still fight.” Thranduil shot her an annoyed glare. “Do you trust me?”

“I will not lie to Legolas about this. You will tell him yourself of your intentions.”

“I will write him a letter and leave before nightfall to head for Radagast,” Melisandre spoke. “If he tries to follow me, you will throw him in the cells.”

“Lock up my own son?”

“Do you want him to get killed? You said he would follow me anywhere. He will not survive the fire if it spreads.”

Thranduil sighed, annoyed. “Very well. I will permit it only if you return unharmed. Legolas would never forgive me if you were to be injured.”

“I’ll never die,” Melisandre said with a warm smile. But she approached Thranduil and gave him a tight hug in gratitude. He stood there stiffly, receiving it. “Thank you, Thranduil. You may be the King, but you are one of the most loyal fathers there are. You love your son unconditionally, and I can only hope he is like you towards our own children.” She pulled away. “Perhaps a little warmer, but I think he has already proven that.” Thranduil’s lips merely quirked into a smirk. “I will not be more than a few weeks. The time it takes to ride there and back. I hope you can keep him subdued that long.”

“Then you had best go and write your letter before he finds out this plan. You should be gone before he reads it.”

And she was off.


	19. Ada-Rable

Radagast the Brown was all too easy to convince to help. And while he set up a magical barrier, holding the spiders behind it so that they would not intrude upon the kingdom, Melisandre told him the plan. If he could keep the fire and the spiders out, then the elves would meet them at the barrier once they smelt the smoke, and they would fire at the spiders trying to escape.

What she hated most was the fact that some of the forest would burn. Radagast had promised to do his best to protect the trees, but the infection was so deep, that it was nearly impossible. And so she trusted him to do his best before she took the horse she had stolen from the stables and rose as far south as she could manage before she turned around the edge of the woods, ignoring the ominous red haze in the sky in the distance, and when Dol Guldur appeared in the distance, she sucked in a breath before she lit a small torch. And she glanced to the sky, watching the sun as it slowly went down. And as soon as the tip of it touched the sky, she fired her first arrow. All it needed to do was hit the webs. The logic of fire would do the rest.

She kicked the horse so that it would get closer and while moving, she began to fire in all directions she could for Dol Guldur, lighting each arrow as she notched it and as she sent it out, another was always close to follow. She did not know if there was enough inside Dol Guldur to burn, but she watched as flames slowly caught the webs on fire and she heard the high pitched screaming of spiders and Orcs alike dying. Now it was the hardest part. Her arrows were sent towards the trees, catching the brush on fire and she turned her horse towards Old Forest Road, every hundred yards sending another section ablaze that was not already caught. It was only when she could see it reasonably spreading that she turned back, and went back the way she came.

It took her less than a week to make the journey back, her horse going faster and faster and she made it so that they hardly rested before they were off again. Radagast was waiting for her, as she promise him she would be there, and she could see elves streaming from the palace gates as she slid off of her horse. Radagast’s wall of magic was doing well to keep the fire out, as he seemed to have been doing for weeks, but the spiders were struggling to get through. And he would not hold for long.

She notched the last of her arrows, and fired them through the magical barrier, into the spiders closest to the wizard, before she offered him her hand. Legolas had done this before. “Say the words and my power will help you.”

Radagast did not hesitate and his slippery hand from his intense concentration gripped hers, and he began muttering the words of the ancient tongue, speaking as though he would not wake from his stupor. What happened was not a barrier that strengthened the forest, but instead a blast of heat that was pushed out from the both of them, and Melisandre gasped in shock, feeling like she had instead been drained of life. And she watched as the spiders seemed to be falling down, but the trees were not harmed. The heat wave seemed to spread far out of sight. And the fire faded with each passing second. Until nothing but spider corpses remained.

Melisandre felt a hand touch her shoulder and she turned to see Legolas looking extremely worried. But she just smiled at him, her arms coming around his neck to hug him tightly.

“What you did was extremely reckless. I should have gone with you.”

“I was fine,” Melisandre said quietly. “But I had to. It was important.”

“What on earth was so important that you had to set the forest on fire?” But Legolas didn’t seem interested in an answer, instead gripping her so tightly that she felt like he was going to bruise her. “I know my father was behind this plan, because I spent a few nights in the cells until I agreed to let you do what you needed.”

Melisandre giggled. “It was all my idea.”

“Why?”

She pulled back just a second. “Elven children are born in times of peace… I wanted some semblance of that…” She swallowed as Legolas frowned, confused. “Don’t you want our children to walk the forest and see its beauty? Not its sickness.” Legolas’s face began to transform as he started to understand what she was getting to. “I was the one who would survive if Radagast could not hold the fire… I had to do this.”

Legolas merely sighed. “Never again. We fight together. And never while you’re with child.”

Melisandre gave him a small smirk. “Alright. I’ll agree to that. But I really haven’t slept in like two and a half weeks, and my power was just used and I feel really, really tired.”

His exasperated look instantly morphed into concern, and he nodded immediately.

But despite her being on Guard duties for the next few months following, Legolas took an overly cautious viewpoint on making sure she did not exert herself. Meaning her patrols consisted of walking the front gate where no one entered because the road was still avoided by travelers.

Your daughter was born by autumn’s close, and with it came a new side of Thranduil that you had hoped not to see. Complete and utter investment. He spoiled her rotten, it clear as day. Her food was whatever she asked for, her dresses made of the finest silks. And when she turned twenty, a body of a five year old in human standards, she was missing.

Vania was missing. It was that simple. She was not in her room, she was not with Thranduil by the stream, and she was not in the throne room playing on the throne as Melisandre had caught her doing whenever Thranduil was not there. Melisandre had first giggled, but upon hearing Thranduil coming closer, scolded the young elfling and helped her down, where they hid behind the throne while Thranduil walked past.

So playing hide and seek had become a game they would play in the vast realm. One that she wasn’t exactly appreciating right about now. She was in none of the usual hiding spots the elfling would go to.

A faint giggling sounded down the hall much too young to be any of the maids. Melisandre sighed in relief, and started for the sound quietly, so as not to send the girl running off to avoid being caught. She rounded the corner to see the doors to the archery range open and Legolas standing beside Vania, or rather kneeling beside her, so that they were proper heights.

A small hand crafted bow was held in her tiny hands, and she recalled the story Legolas had told her decades ago, about when his mother had taught him how to shoot. Melisandre had not forbidden it, like Legolas’s father had. She watched as Vania released the arrow and it went a considerable distance for a child, before crashing into the ground. The girl giggled again as Legolas kissed her cheek, telling her a hushed praise.

“I wasn’t invited to this little party,” Melisandre said with a fake pout.

Vania gasped as she turned around, nearly striking Legolas in the face with her bow, and Melisandre giggled as the little girl ran to her, hugging her around the legs. Melisandre ruffled her strawberry blonde hair, before glancing to Legolas, curiously.

“You trained from a much younger age. I only thought it right,” Legolas defended.

“Nana, look what Ada taught me!” Vania cried, as she rushed back to her bow and the tiny dull arrows, and she fired another one.

“Excellent. I even think in a few years you could join the Woodland Guard like your father and I.” Vania absolutely beamed. As Legolas approached Melisandre, the little girl began to shoot more arrows, her face scrunched up in concentration.

Legolas’ kiss in greeting was tender and warm, his hands resting at her sides, pulling her as close as she could get, without the swell of her stomach being crushed. “You haven’t been burning spiders nests, have you?”

“I’ve thought about it.” She took hold of his hands, pressing them against her abdomen. “He’s been kicking frequently. I think he wants out.”

“He grows stronger every day,” Legolas whispered, as if marveled. He had said the same for Vania. He knelt down once more, and kissed her stomach, before he maintained eye contact with the bulge, as if he could see through her skin to the child.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to? She is going to poke her eye out if no one is supervising her.”

“Right now, my only duty is to you.” Melisandre felt her smile light up her face and she watched as Legolas glanced up, a twinge of concern. Always concerned. “The healers have been telling my father and I that you have been sick.”

“It is nothing to worry about. It’s perfectly normal.” She gripped his hands, bringing him to a standing position. Pulling him closer, she whispered into his ear so that Vania could not overhear. “But it is not only sickness I have felt,” she murmured, her lips nearly touching his ear. “I crave you.”

“I am sorry I was not here to remedy this situation sooner.”

Melisandre giggled, and her grip on his hands tightened. “Don’t be, you’re here now.” She moved back a smidge. “Why don’t you finish her lesson, and then we can rest for the day. I’m feeling exhausted if anyone should ask.”

Legolas hummed as he stepped back, before giving a small nod. “As the Dovahkiin commands me.” Melisandre raised an eyebrow, but nodded, and told Vania goodnight, before she turned and headed for her rooms. She would never admit it aloud to Legolas, but he had looked adorable as he crouched beside the young girl that resembled a perfect blend of them both, and instructed her on how to hold the bow.

He was the best Ada she had ever dreamed for their children. She just hoped and prayed the darkness would not ruin their happiness.


	20. Please Repeat

It was never supposed to be this way. He was never supposed to go off against this darkness. When Gandalf had approached with the news, she had volunteered immediately, the idea of going into the fiery pits of Mordor a walk in the park. But Legolas had immediately put a stop to it. Nevermind they were in Rivendell, meeting with Aragorn for their decade meet. Their children, Vania and their newest edition, a son named Daugion, off running with Arwen and the twins.

“Someone must stay with the children and help my father with the kingdom in my stead.” Melisandre knew it was true. Thranduil had been right. She had to think more than just about herself. She had to think about her children.

They left for the Woodland Realm that night, taking the Old Forest Road, now devoid of spiders, and once in the safety of the gates, broke the news to Thranduil. He was not pleased with the news, but Gandalf was someone who even stubborn, hermit kings did not deny. “Take Feren and a few of our best with you. If this is only a Council, then you are to return immediately. If this is a quest… “ Thranduil did not need to finish. He was to go, if he could.

The time came for him to leave nearly four months later. He said his goodbyes to teenage Vania, and then to twenty year old Daugion, before he embraced you for what you knew to be the last time in a long while.

“You must stay here, for Daugion and Vania.” Melisandre felt the tears in her eyes, and nodded, dropping her gaze to their joined hands. Like so many years before when they had first begun courting. “They need you. My father needs you to help with the duties I am abandoning.”

“All this adventure and without me,” Melisandre said, and her voice shook. “Promise me, Legolas… Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise you.” She sucked in a sharp breath, relieved with the conviction in which he spoke. “It may be years until you see me again, but I promise I will come back.”

“Tell Aragorn I said hello,” she said quietly. “And Gloin, if he’s there. And wish them all well for me. And any of the other dwarves that were with me in the Company.” He gave a nod, and he lifted her hands so that he could kiss them. His lips lingered on her knuckles, on the wedding ring and the courtship ring. “I love you, meleth nin.”

“Elvish,” he said quietly. “You know how I love it when you speak to me in Elvish, Dovahkiin.”

“And you when you speak to me in the ancient tongue.” She tried to find strength, and he kissed her one last time. “If you ever need help, you know who you can signal.”

“This is a darkness that will do far more than call forth evil. It will destroy all of Middle Earth.” Melisandre was silent, knowing that. It was why he was leaving. He had to. “I must say goodbye to my father. I must ride for Rivendell.”

“Be safe, and keep your aim true.”

“Ge melin.”

“Ge melin,” she whispered. “Guren niniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham.” He left to bid his goodbyes to his father, and Melisandre tucked the children in by the fire as they cried, before she called for a maid to watch over them. And then she was sprinting down the halls, as fast as she could go, her elven silk gown fluttering around her. She was out of breath by the time she reached the gates in which he was leaving, watching as he mounted his horse. And she stood perfectly still.

Melisandre watched as he rode out of the gates, the small company of elves joining him unlike what should travel with a prince, even in these times. It was the darkness. The darkness that Thranduil had warned them all of. She knew that it would very well be the last she’d see of him. With such dangers, even a master marksman could fall. And unlike her, he would not get up.

She stood there for a while, even after his horses had left and even after the sun had set to darkness. A hand touched her shoulder, and she knew who they were without turning. “He will return,” Thranduil said, his confident tone weaker as even he seemed uncertain. “Come, it is time for dinner.”

“I was not the one to send him away this time… Gandalf was.”

“And the turn of events is astonishing, for once, that you weren’t the cause of something.” She tore her eyes away from the gate, and his hand did not leave her as he directed her up the long paths towards the dining hall. Candles were lit, and she could see Daugion and Vania with the wet nurse, who had been the one to answer Melisandre’s call. Melisandre gave the elf maiden a small smile, and the elf nodded to them both, but did not get up as she had both children on her lap. “My Lady, my King.”

“You may leave us, now. We can take it from here.”

“Of course,” she said immediately, and as she rose, Daugion slid into his own seat, and Vania flew off of the chair and into Melisandre’s arms.

“He’ll be back. What are a few years? We’ll see him soon, once this Darkness is gone.” But Vania didn’t seem convinced. “Aragorn will take good care of him. We both know he would do no less.” She looked the least like her father out of the two children, and she kissed the girl’s forehead, before moving to the table. “Let’s eat and we’ll feel better.” Daugion, with his bright blonde hair looked most like him. She sat across from her son, who was no older than five by human standards. And Vania… she was almost a grown woman. Even though they were reasonably distanced from what Melisandre had always known, decades apart, it was still soon for elves. But with the promise of darkness, they did not want to wait when there was no certainty. She had an obligation, as well, to bring an heir into the world should Legolas or Thranduil fall. He sat across from her with red rimmed eyes and a pouting frown.

“I had hoped the food tonight would be a comfort,” Thranduil stated as servers came into the room, dropping off the first course. As the lid lifted, Melisandre was surprised to see chicken and dried fruits. Things she had often eaten up North, or on her voyages. She glanced towards Thranduil, who was giving her an apologetic look. “He had to go. His presence was requested.”

“I know,” Melisandre said quietly. “Thank you.” She meant the meal, of course, but he merely nodded and though he did not have meat on his plate – as she had learned most elves did not eat meat – he did have a few of the dried fruits. Daugion had the same as Thranduil. And Vania the same as her mother. They ate in silence, no offer of conversation. No want of it either.

She had been sitting near the throne when she heard the horses and the sound of hooves. She rose to her feet, ignoring Thranduil asking about what was going on. Melisandre knew the answer.

“Melisandre,” Thranduil warned as she made to go down the stairs. Melisandre paused, her hand coming to her bandaged abdomen. A training accident, but it had done a bit more damage than even an orc blade. Thranduil had the elf that had done it put in the cells for a week, though Melisandre insisted that it was no one’s fault.

She did not sit back down at the beautifully adorned chairs that were made for whoever was helping the King that day. She had volunteered today. It seemed that she did not need to wait long for Legolas to ascend the stairs. As soon as she saw him, she felt nothing but relief. She didn’t even care for the dwarf that was trailing behind him. She nearly ran up to him, hugging him so tightly, she thought she might break him.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” Legolas said quietly into her hair, breathing her in and holding her as close as he dared. She returned the statement, breathing in the smell of woods, and dust and camp fires. Life on the road, a life she sometimes missed.

“Careful,” Melisandre said quietly. She ran her hands down his arms, pulling back as she felt a twinge of pain. “Not entirely healed, but I’m fine,” she hurried as his eyes went round in alarm.

“How did you come by this?”

“A training accident, to help me with that longsword you had left behind. It was too heavy for my weakened hands and I tripped-” Legolas didn’t believe that for a second. He knew she was not weak of any hands. “I had too much wine while in the cellar with the other guards and started a knife throwing competition. And I fell onto Feren’s dagger. It’s fine.”

Legolas sighed. “At least you did not fret about me. I have the most wonderful news. Aragorn is to be named King of Gondor in the coming months. Once the Darkness was vanquished, he was able to sit on his throne once more in peace-” It was astounding news!

She made to relay some joined exclamation of surprise when a throat cleared behind her husband, gruff and impatient. Melisandre glanced around him, surprised to see the dwarf that looked familiar. Extremely familiar. “Ah, yes… This is my dear friend-”

“Gimli,” Melisandre said softly. “Son of Gloin.” She laughed quietly, approaching the dwarf and kneeling. “I traveled with your father in the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.” Gimli glanced up at her in surprise. “Gloin told me many stories of you and your mother. My name is Melisandre.”

“Oh, aye, he mentioned you often enough,” Gimli grunted and he sounded just like his father as well. “Girl that could fight through fire and even took a few morghul arrows. Thought you died.”

“A few,” Melisandre said with a smile. “And I’m sure I did. I am so happy to finally meet you. How is your father?”

“Dwells in the Iron Hills, doing fine.”

“And the others? Dwalin, Balin?”

Gimli lowered his gaze. “Balin died long ago. While with the Fellowship, we went through the mines of Moira, that he had reclaimed, and found his tomb.” Oh. Melisandre frowned, her gaze dropping to her hands in her lap. “Dwalin still lives with Dain, in the Iron Hills, and visits Erebor sometimes. Ori was with Balin in the end.”

“Ori was a good dwarf. Very sweet.” She gave Gimli a small smile, struggling to stand, as it seemed her side did not agree with her. Legolas’s hand gripped her arm, helping her. “Sorry. I just lost my balance-”

“You should not be straining yourself. How did you get up here? I hope it was not on your own.”

“You need not worry. I walked with her,” Thranduil stated. But he was no longer in his throne, instead standing at the base, and looking to his son, as if he did not believe he would show up. As if he believed that he would never return. “She has been quite a handful. Insisting that she can even continue guard duties when her eyes no longer looked for dangers, but for you.”

Melisandre glared at the king. “I have also contemplated what it would be like to be Queen, but I’ve refrained myself plenty. I didn’t think I’d make you King just yet, meleth nin.” The last part was directed towards Legolas, who looked amused.

“A wise choice,” Thranduil said blandly. “You brought a dwarf into my Kingdom?”

“A friend,” Legolas returned.

“I let you run around for a year and you come back with a dwarf for friends and nearly two grown children.” Thranduil sighed. “Perhaps Melisandre was right. Sailing ten years ago would have been a better use of my time.”

“I have not heard you so light, ada,” Legolas admitted. “What has happened?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? I’ve named Daugion my heir,” Thranduil spoke blankly. “He’s the perfect child, and does not do things like make friends with dwarves.”

“Need I remind you, ada, just who exactly I married a mere fifty years ago.”

Melisandre sniffed. No. He didn’t. “The last dwarves that walked these halls stole barrels from my kingdom’s stores and brought a pack of Orcs close enough to my borders, killing a few of my men.” Thranduil stared at Gimli. “Will you be doing anything like that?”

“I should hope not. Unless I’m thrown into a cell and you’ve an invisible hobbit lying about,” Gimli insisted. Melisandre giggled. She liked him already.

Gimli stayed for a long time, become one with the family when he would visit, and when he would return to the Iron Hills or Erebor - wherever his current residence would be at that time - he would come with news of the old Company, or of Laketown. And though Bard had passed years and years ago, the news of his eldest child’s death was one that Melisandre was saddened to hear.

“I would like to visit his youngest,” Melisandre requested of Legolas one evening. “Tilda… She was very fond of the Dragonborn legends.”

“Do you wish me to accompany you?”

“No, I do not think you need to.” Melisandre rode to Dale, and found the old woman’s house easily enough. She would have been in her sixties now, but she recognized Melisandre within an instant.

“Either this is my final moment and I’m hallucinating, or you are really standing there.” They had tea, and discussed everything the once young girl wanted to know. Melisandre had not interacted much with men since arriving in Mirkwood for good. But seeing Tilda now a wrinkled woman made her heart pang. She would have have been able to bear seeing her old mentor Rodair be gripped with age and watch him pass.

“So the legends were true,” Tilda murmured quietly. “I always thought… that you had survived in the fall like Da had.” Melisandre shook her head with a small smile. “I always thought you were, even when you denied it. And when you disappeared in the war… no one found a body.”

“Elves took me in to heal me. It’s where I am now. I’m married to Prince Legolas and I have two children, Vania and Daugion.” Tilda gave a watery smile. “So much has changed.”

“And yet you remain constant.”

“You were always a Dragonborn, Tilda,” Melisandre said quietly. “Being a Dragonborn isn’t fancy powers or unbreakable bones. It’s the unfaltering ability to believe. And I’ve never met someone that believed as fiercely as you.”

It was the last she saw of Tilda. Melisandre then trusted Thranduil with the children while her and Legolas rode west to see the last ship sailing for Valinor. Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn, and Lord Elrond were to be aboard.

But the guests that were amongst the those on the dock surprised her most of all. She slid off of her horse with a sharp breath and tears sprung to her eyes as she spotted the elderly halfling with clothing she would never forget.

“Bilbo Baggins?” The man turned slowly, as if age did not permit him to move any faster and Melisandre gave a laugh, surging forward until she could gently hug the hobbit. “I don’t believe it. You must be, what? Nearing a hundred and fifteen?”

“A hundred and sixteen,” Bilbo sniffed, and she found that his attitude had not changed one bit. “I can’t believe my eyes. Melisandre? Why, you don’t look like you’ve aged a day since I last saw you! We had all thought you died in the dragonfire.”

Melisandre gave him a warm smile. “Oh, of course not. I will never die. How do you think Thorin would have reacted if I knew then what I know now? An elf princes?”

Bilbo chuckled, and it seemed the name of the dwarf king sparked fond memories. “Oh, he would have had a right fit.”

“And you, my dear friend, you don’t look any different, save for a few gray hairs.”

Bilbo chuckled, before gesturing for a small hobbit beside him. “Frodo, my dear boy, I’d like you to meet someone very special. This is Melisandre from the Northern Wastelands.”

“You’re in the story my Uncle wrote,” Frodo gasped. “I did not think you were real.”

“You wrote about me?” Melisandre asked Bilbo. “I did not know you treasured our friendship so much.”

“You and I were the only ones out of place amongst that Company. We had to stick together.” And they had. She thought of him often, warmly. She did not know he still lived, or she would have visited him in the Shire long ago. “I hope you’ve been doing well? Fighting dragons and saving burning cities?”

“More like taming a dragon and marrying and settling down,” Melisandre laughed quietly. She glanced over her shoulder towards where Legolas was standing. “Prince Legolas. I’m sure you remember him. King Thranduil’s son.”

“Oh, he does look familiar.” Melisandre smiled and hugged Bilbo once more.

“You’re going, aren’t you?”

“Lady Galadriel has given me passage, being a ring bearer, or some technical nonsense I haven’t quite figured out.” Melisandre gave him a gentle smile. “I’d very much like to see what all this fuss over there is about. Why it’s so exclusive.”

“I’ll see you over there one day. Maybe you’ll remain young that long. Do you think you can make it another century?”

Bilbo sucked in a breath. “I guess I’ll have to try for an old friend that has seen much of what I have. I’ll need someone to talk to other than elves and a meddling Gandalf. But I had best board. I’m not as young as I once was, you know. I can’t be walking for a thousand miles on end.”

Melisandre laughed quietly, before nodding. “Of course.” But as she rose to her feet, she spotted the wizard that had caused her so much trouble when she was young. And nearly a heart attack when she was old. Not really old, but still relatively worn to this earth. He bowed his head to her, and he no longer wore gray ragged robes, but instead those of pure white. “And you are sailing as well?”

“Lady Galadriel and I have become good friends over the years.”

“Always Lady Galadriel’s doing,” Melisandre murmured quietly, fondly. Her eyes darted to the three elves, helping Bilbo onto the boat, and she gave them a dip of her head in farewell. She would see them again soon enough.

But that time did not come for near a hundred years, as they stayed just long enough for Aragorn’s reign to end and pass to his children. And then the remaining elves of Mirkwood boarded their boat with their trusted friend that Melisandre had granted passage to - being the Princess likely had rights she was willing to exploit. And as Gimli struggled not to get sick, she stood between Legolas, her father-in-law, and her two children, watching as the world of Middle Earth faded away from their grasp, safe.

No darkness would ever befall it again. Not for a very, very long time.

“Now, we really must brush up on your Sindarin before your parents think me neglectful,” Thranduil spoke once it had faded away. Melisandre glanced to the once King. “It is appalling that your children know it better than you. And I will not have myself look inadequate.”

Melisandre couldn’t help but laugh quietly. “No need to be desperate. We have a year’s journey ahead of us before we make it to Valinor. I am certain I will learn it well enough by then.” But her and Legolas shared a loo was certain Thranduil was not looking. He still treated you as if you were human sometimes, and incapable of picking up things in passing much like elves did. Perhaps he seemed to forget that you weren’t human as you once thought.

But you hadn’t the heart to tell the old man that you had become fluent long ago in an attempt to decipher whatever he would say to Legolas in your presence. After all, someone as old as he didn’t need such a shock for their heart.

“Please, repeat after me.” It would be a long journey.


End file.
